


The Old Familiar Sting

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Pack Dynamics, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say the nightmares started back up again would be inaccurate – they never really went away, but they had faded to something manageable.  </p><p>Not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae/gifts).



> Warnings: underage, canon-typical violence, CHARACTER DEATH (not main pairing), grief, intravenous drug use, addiction, mentions of past trauma, angst  
> Spoilers: none for S3, canon-compliant through S2
> 
> Written for Rae for the AO3 auction, based on a prompt from [this gif](http://rae1013.tumblr.com/post/46373808987/this-pic-totally-makes-me-want-a-derek-heroin-au). Please heed the warnings – this is pretty intensely angsty at the beginning, but it eases up, I promise. See end notes for more details (and spoilers). Title from “Hurt” (I imagined the Johnny Cash version). Eternal thanks to aliassmith for her feedback and support (and to Rae for her patience)!

He only knew about it because of Laura.  Not that sweet, perfect Laura would have anything to do with that sort of thing.  But once upon a time, she’d met some werewolf junkies from Portland who knew a guy in southern Oregon who could mix you up some stuff.  And she made the mistake of telling her little brother.

“Isn’t that insane, Derek?  Who would willingly do that to themselves?  Not to mention what would happen if hunters started up an operation like that – they could mix anything in there.”

Derek was only half-listening at the time, because he was thinking about the next time he’d get to fuck his girlfriend.  The one who turned out to be a hunter.

If she’d been mixing drugs instead of flammable chemicals, Derek would be the only one dead.

&&&

The alpha pack delivered Erica’s body to the burnt-out house on a Tuesday.

They delivered the other half three days later.

Isaac vomited, Scott wouldn’t come near her, and Stiles… Stiles wept openly.  He was the one who helped bury her in a grave near where Laura had been.  When they finished, he asked for a moment alone and Derek went inside, focusing on the wind rushing through the holes in the walls so he wouldn’t hear the last words Stiles said to her.

Derek remembered first approaching her in the hospital.  She was wearing nothing but a flimsy gown, looking like a cornered animal, and he’d slid his hands up her legs and all but seduced her.

Because he thought she’d be useful.

Just like Kate had done to him.

&&&

Peter said the worst part was in the waiting, in the calm before the storm.

Peter was wrong.

The worst part _was_ the storm, when the alpha pack finally descended in full force.  They’d kept Boyd alive but had given him something that kept him feral.  When they let him loose, he killed Peter, but only after a long fight.  In the end, Peter was no match for Boyd’s strength, amplified by whatever was in his system.  Boyd fought like a cornered animal – even Derek probably couldn’t have taken him, if he’d even been able to break out of the mountain ash circle that had trapped him with Isaac and Scott.  Stiles broke an arm and two ribs giving Boyd enough sedative to down an elephant, and that was _after_ Boyd was exhausted from the fight and full of Allison’s arrows.

When Deaton concocted something to flush Boyd’s system, at least Boyd was spared the memory of what he’d done.  But he also had to be told about Erica.  The sickest part was that they would always wonder if Boyd was the one who’d done it.

When the time came, Derek let Boyd be the one to tear Deucalion’s head off.

&&&

Instead of bringing them together, it pushed them farther apart.  Isaac moved into a foster home but spent nearly all his time with Scott, who began avoiding Derek altogether despite the truce they’d formed when the alpha pack arrived, and Allison had no reason to come in contact with Derek.  With school out for the summer, Boyd would disappear for weeks at a time, and though it actually made Derek sick with worry, he knew anything he might try to say would make it worse.  Jackson and his family had left before the whole thing went down, and while he heard Lydia was still in town, she wanted nothing to do with any of them save Allison.  Derek didn’t blame her.

And Peter, of course, was gone for good.  Derek doubted even the blackest magic would resurrect him this time, even if someone could find all the pieces.  Derek alternately mourned him and felt sick for it.  Even as a liar, a manipulator, and a killer, he was the only family Derek had left, and even that had been taken away now.

That left Stiles.  Derek assumed his loyalties would be with Scott, but Derek spotted Stiles putting flowers on Erica’s grave once, and from then on there were new ones every week.  Stiles didn’t seek him out, didn’t come to his loft, but he would at least acknowledge Derek in public.  And he would call every once in a while to see if there were any new threats and to check up on Boyd.  Why he didn’t just call Boyd himself, Derek didn’t know.

Stiles asked Derek once if there was anything he could do for him.

As usual, the words came out all wrong, but Derek hoped he at least sounded more exhausted than angry.  “Stiles, what could you possibly do for me?”

There was a pause.  “Nothing, I guess.  Not a thing in the world.”

He still called, but he never asked again.

&&&

To say the nightmares started back up again would be inaccurate – they never really went away, but they had faded to something manageable.  Since Kate died, Derek would wake up in a cold sweat instead of chest-crushing paralysis, and he’d smell the remains of the takeout in the trash in the kitchen instead of charred wood and smoke.

Not anymore.

Now, the only way to keep from hearing the screams, the crackling of both wood and flesh burning, was to keep from falling asleep altogether.  He couldn’t stop sleeping completely, of course, but he worked out long into the night, past his supernatural endurance just on the hope that he could pass out for a few hours without dreaming.  It didn’t work, of course, and he walked around like a zombie during the daylight, rarely leaving his loft.

It took a full month of that before he tried to contact the guy in southern Oregon, though he had to go to Portland first to get a name.  The werewolf community there was small and tight-knit, and they had heard what happened to Derek’s family.  That alone was enough; he didn’t even have to tell them about the alpha pack.

He watched the guy – Terrence – mix the stuff, but there could have been anything in those bottles.  All Derek told Terrence was that he wanted to sleep without dreaming, and the guy gave a knowing nod and started combining herbs and minerals in measurements apparently only he knew until he produced a small bag full of gray powder that looked, fittingly, like ash.

“Dissolve a little of this in saline.  None of that spoon-and-lighter shit,” Terrence said.  “And it works faster if it goes right into the vein.  Oh, and I threw in a little something extra just for fun.  Make you forget your troubles.”

Back at the loft, Derek wasn’t sure which was more pathetic: what he was actually doing, or the fact that he had to Google how to do it.  He’d never had a shot or a blood draw in in his life – never needed to – and even he knew copying the little bit he’d seen in movies was beyond stupid.  Trusting the internet probably wasn’t much better, but at least there was some consensus from people who seemed to know what they were talking about.

He still managed to hold out three more days, but when he woke up with his claws buried in his own thighs, anything seemed preferable to a few more hours alone with his subconscious.  He was careful with the tourniquet, with finding a vein and injecting the stuff properly.  Anything strong enough to get him fucked up could potentially be strong enough to kill him; he knew that much.

That first time, he shot up on the bed, carefully laying everything down on the nightstand when he was done.  He assumed he’d simply lose consciousness and he had no intention of waking up on the floor.

He didn’t lose consciousness.  At least, not right away.

It started with a fizzing in his veins, like his blood had been replace by champagne.  The more it fizzed, the lighter his body became, until he was sure he was floating above the bed.  His eyes had slipped shut at some point; he didn’t remember doing that, but there were bursts of color flaring behind his eyelids – not the scalding heat of red and orange but cool blues and greens; warm, comforting amber and brown.  He smelled the forest, the rain, clean skin and fresh grass and earthy desire.

There were moments of semi-lucidity where he remembered there was something he was supposed to forget, but even in those moments he couldn’t recall what it was.  There was nothing but the present, the sweetness of right here, right now.  No pain or worry or even thought.  Just feeling, pure sensation.

He had no idea how long it lasted – time had lost its meaning within seconds of the hit – but slowly the bubbles in his blood started to pop, one by one.  Maybe it should’ve hurt, but it didn’t.  In fact, it even tickled a little as the euphoria eased off and he felt slowly lowered back down to the bed.

He slept for fourteen hours without moving and didn’t dream once.

&&&

Derek wasn’t completely naïve about addiction; he was able to ration the stuff at first.  Iron self-discipline had been the only thing keeping him going for years, and he wasn’t about to abandon it now.  Once a week, that’s all he’d allow himself.  Once a week he could get a full night’s sleep, preceded by an indeterminate amount of semi-waking peace.

Before the month was out, he was up to twice a week.  How the fuck was he supposed to keep functioning if he couldn’t _sleep_ , for fuck’s sake?  Just because things in his territory were calm now didn’t mean they would be for long.  Something else was bound to come searching for them, out to prove itself or just cause havoc, and Derek wouldn’t be able to face it if he was an exhausted wreck.

Boyd, when he came by, said Derek was looking a little better.  Isaac told Derek he was glad Derek was sleeping again.  Derek’s body apparently metabolized the stuff by the time he woke up, so there wasn’t any lingering scent for the betas to pick up, and he’d been able to push himself harder during his workouts.  Only Stiles looked at him strangely, and it made Derek’s insides twist whenever Stiles stared at him for just a beat too long.  He came by to tell Derek that they were talking about starting up movie nights again – something they’d done before… before – but that Scott and Allison, and therefore probably Isaac, would only do it if it took place at Scott’s house.

“You guys have fun with that,” Derek said, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Dude, you’re invited,” Stiles said, gesturing back and forth between them.  “This is an invitation.  I am inviting you.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“C’mon, it’s just movie night.  You don’t even have to talk to anybody if you don’t want to.  In fact, talking during the movie is actively discouraged with popcorn ballistics.  Which you don’t even have to clean up, because apparently Scott experienced a traumatic incident where he accidentally ground a popcorn kernel into the carpet and, to hear him tell it, his mom made him pick it out with his teeth, so now he’s totally paranoid about popcorn in his living room and picks it up practically before it hits the floor.  So, y’know, a movie _and_ live entertainment.”

Derek sighed.  “As fun as that sounds, no.”

He went to close the door, but Stiles stuck his foot in it.  Literally.  There was predictable flailing.

“Okay, number one, _ow_.  Number two, this is Scott reaching out to you.  We’ve been talking about the territory, what we need to do to prevent something like… what happened from happening again.”  Stiles put his hands firmly on his hips.  “I repeat: Scott.  Reaching out.  To you.  You know how serious that is, even if it’s probably going to involve a Katherine Heigl movie at some point.  She really needs a better agent.”

“Still not interested.”  It seemed so pointless now, a pathetic attempt at bonding.  Derek didn’t have a pack anymore.  He didn’t have anyone.

Stiles squinted at Derek.  “What’s up with you, man?”

Derek had just been annoyed; now he was starting to get legitimately angry.  “Did you seriously just ask me that question?  _What’s up_?”

 “I know what happened.  I was _there_.  And I know how everyone else is coping with it except you.”

“What’s there to cope with?” Derek growled.  “Same shit, different day.”

But Stiles didn’t give an inch.  “You realize if I said that to you, you would rip my throat out, right?  I’m not trying to start a therapy session or anything, but Boyd and Isaac both said you were doing better, and I’m really not seeing it.”

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about me.”

“It’s not all about you!” Stiles said, throwing his hands in the air.  “You’ve got betas who need you, a… whatever the hell Scott is… who can’t hold things together on his own, and a couple of humans who know what’s out there and what happens when it crashes the party.” He put his hand on Derek’s arm, and it looked like it surprised him almost as much as it did Derek.  “We need you, Derek.  Even if it’s just sitting on the couch watching a shitty movie, it’s _something_.”

“Call me when you’re in actual danger or I’ll _put_ you in danger,” Derek snapped, shoving Stiles back just enough to get him out of the doorway.  “And enjoy your movie night.”

He didn’t slam the door; he shut it calmly, but he did make sure to click the deadbolt.

“You’re not the only one who’s going through this, Derek,” he heard in a quiet voice.  He stood and listened to Stiles’ heartbeat on the other side of the door for a few long minutes before it finally moved away down the hall.

Derek swore.  If only Stiles would mind his own goddamn… 

This was going to be the third night this week.

&&&

It only took a few more weeks for Derek to stop trying to kid himself – he couldn’t sleep without it.

He could step back from the whole situation, see it objectively: the high was never quite as high as the one before, he had to use a little more each time, he couldn’t stop thinking about it during the day.  He could see it happening and he couldn’t stop it.  Worse, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to stop it.  
   
It was the only good thing in his life, and it was tainted by guilt and secrecy and weakness.  That seemed somehow appropriate.  It didn’t help that he sometimes heard Laura’s voice as he was about to shoot up, about how insane and dangerous it is, and he couldn’t retort _you don’t know what it’s like without it_ because she did.  She lived with it nearly as long as Derek had, and she broke down sometimes, but she always got up again.

Maybe Derek should have let himself break down more often.

Or maybe Laura was just stronger.  Better.  She would never have needed this.

The bag was running empty.

&&&

Terrence was happy to mix him up another batch – for twice the price.  Derek came within a knife’s edge of asking him to make it stronger this time.  But he didn’t, and that had to count for something.  He’d just have to ration it more carefully this time, keep to the same dose no matter what.

That lasted less than a week, when he woke up with his mouth tasting like ashes.

Derek rarely left his loft anymore.  There was a 24-hour convenience store two blocks away, and when he had to, Derek would stay up past midnight before getting what provisions he could.  Boyd was still coming over occasionally, and usually brought food, but Isaac had stopped entirely.  And Derek could hear the godawful rattle of the Jeep a mile away in plenty of time to bolt the door, though he certainly wasn’t fooling Stiles by pretending not to be home.  Sometimes Stiles sat against the outside of his door for hours, usually just reading or typing away on the computer, but sometimes talking softly, knowing Derek could hear him.

He talked about neutral things mostly – school, lacrosse, his dad.  He gave Derek updates that Derek would never have asked for.  Isaac’s grades had dropped perilously at the end of the year, so his foster parents made him start seeing a counselor, and it seemed to be working.  Scott’s summer school grades, on the other hand, were going back up, possibly because the sort-of breakup meant he and Allison were actually studying instead of “studying” all the time.  His dad was happy, if puzzled, that the animal attacks seemed to have stopped, though they were still repairing the station from the Argents’ assault.  Finstock held summer lacrosse practices and constantly bitched about the loss of one of his co-captains.  Stiles was sorely tempted to tell the coach what really happened to Jackson just to see if his head would actually explode.

Stiles rarely talked about himself, save for mentioning the anticlimactic nature of his seventeenth birthday, and it nearly made Derek crazy.  How was Stiles dealing so well with all of this?  He was badly hurt in the fight, and aside from Boyd, he had taken Erica’s death the hardest.  But he just kept going, kept moving forward as Derek sank deeper and deeper into the hole he’d been digging for himself.

It ended the same way every time: three short knocks and Stiles saying, “Please, Derek, open the door.”  He never said it more than once, but he would wait for at least five minutes before leaving.  Derek didn’t know _what_ would happen if he opened it.  Sometimes Stiles made him angry – Derek might lose control and attack him.  Sometimes the melancholy in Stiles’ voice would rip Derek to shreds – he might simply crumble into dust if Stiles looked at him.  Sometimes Derek would remember Stiles’ hand on his arm, a warm, firm touch that asked for nothing in return – Derek might throw his arms around Stiles, tell him everything, ask for help.

At one point, Derek was on his knees, hand on the doorknob but unable to turn the lock.

Stiles stayed a long time that day – almost twenty minutes, just standing in front of the door.  When he finally left, Derek crawled back to his room and pulled out a fresh syringe.  It wasn’t even sundown yet.

&&&

It could have been anywhere from a few days to a few weeks later; time had really stopped meaning much to Derek.  Even the cycle of day into night – even the full moon – ceased to have any meaning.  There was just when Derek was conscious, when Derek was high, and when Derek was not conscious.  He only knew that the first state was barely tolerable and the second was getting shorter while the third got longer.

He’d stopped working out a long time ago.  It seemed pointless now.  He wasn’t too far gone to realize that he was of no help to anyone like this.  The fact that no one was even asking for help made his uselessness all the more obvious.  At least he wasn’t getting in anyone’s way.

So when he felt the hard slap to the side of his face and heard the resulting curse, he thought he was hallucinating.  Another slap, another bout of swearing, and Derek managed to open his eyes, though it took them a few seconds to focus as his brain simultaneously tried to descramble the sounds into actual words.

“—again, because even your _face_ is made of fucking granite, I swear to god, Derek, I will—”

Derek managed a grunt, and the shape in front of him stopped moving.  He picked out the eyes first, then the nose, then the gaping mouth.

Stiles.

“Are you actually awake?  C’mon, Derek, you gotta give me more than caveman-ese.”

“Only—” Derek started, finding his mouth dry as cotton.  “Only ‘f you stop slapping me.”

“Oh my god.  _Oh_ my god,” Stiles said, gripping Derek by the shoulders and shaking him.  “Can you sit up?”

Surely this would all go away if Derek just closed his eyes.  But as soon as he did, he got another slap, followed by fingers grabbing his nipple and _twisting_.

“Motherfucker,” Derek groaned, propping up on one elbow.  “Stiles, get out of here.”

He could see Stiles in more detail now, looming over him on the bed and looking pissed.  “Not a chance.  Not until you tell me what the _fuck_ this is,” he snapped, pointing to Derek’s other arm.

Shit, Derek had passed out last night before he even took the needle out.  He forced himself to sit up and do it now, not even watching as the small puncture wound healed itself before he could even pull off the tourniquet.  “It’s just something to help me sleep.”

Stiles’ laugh sounded more like a cry of pain.  “Derek, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“So?”

“So nobody’s seen you in weeks, and you haven’t answered calls or texts in three days.  I talked to Boyd yesterday and he said the last time he saw you, you smelled weird.  I came over here to make sure you weren’t dead.  Usually I can at least hear you moving around, but I pounded on the door for a good five minutes and for once you didn’t even tell me to get lost.”

Derek was having trouble following all of that, but he knew Stiles shouldn’t be in here.  “Did you break in?”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to apologize, because for about a minute and a half there, I thought you _were_ dead.  What are you shooting up with?  It’s nothing Deaton gave you, I sure as hell know that.”  Stiles held up the small plastic bag of gray powder.  “What is this stuff?”

“Where did you get that?” Derek growled.

“On your _nightstand_ , dipshit.  If you were trying to be stealthy, you failed.  Tell me what this is.”

Derek groaned, seeing how close to empty the bag was.  He wasn’t sure he was capable of making another trip north.  “I don’t know.”

“Tell me what it is or I’ll flush it.”

Derek didn’t even remember moving, but he suddenly found himself crouched over Stiles’ prone body, fangs out, one hand around Stiles’ throat and the other around his forearm.  With his claws piercing Stiles’ skin.  Horrified, Derek leapt back before the stench of Stiles’ fear could hit him.  He hadn’t lost control like that since he was a teenager.

Stiles, of course, had moved quickly away from the bed and toward the door, not turning his back on Derek.  He was rubbing at his arm, which didn’t seem to be bleeding much, but Derek could smell it anyway and it was like shards of glass digging under his skin.  He’d harmed a human.  He’d harmed _Stiles_ , and he’d done it without even thinking.  He just stared at the bed, where Stiles had dropped the baggie.  “You need to go.”

“No.”

Derek stared up at him.  “I didn’t mean to do that.  It’s not safe to be around me right now.”

Stiles stared back defiantly.  “Yeah, I got that, thanks.  But if you think I’m leaving you like this, you’ve actually lost your mind.”

“Stiles, please leave,” Derek said, too humiliated and terrified to even care about the plaintive tone of his own voice.

“What’s in that bag?” Stiles repeated.

“ _I.  Don’t.  Know_ ,” Derek gritted out.

“You’re sitting there telling me you don’t know what you’re injecting into your own body.”

“It helps me sleep,” Derek muttered.  “I don’t dream.”

“You really don’t know what’s in it, do you?” Stiles said after an agonizingly long moment, looking just as frightened as he had when Derek had attacked him.  “Where did it come from?”

“A—a healer in Oregon.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s just a guy who mixes stuff up for werewolves.”

“Stuff to help them sleep,” Stiles said disbelievingly, his eyes narrowing.

“Sometimes.”

“Okay, let’s try something different.  How much have you been ‘sleeping,’ Derek?”

Derek knew Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat, couldn’t smell the fear in his sweat, but those eyes seemed to pierce right through him and Derek knew he’d get caught if he lied.  “I only use it when I need it.”

“And how often do you need it?”

Belated rage suddenly boiled up in Derek’s gut – this little shit had broken into his apartment and was now grilling him on things that were none of his goddamn business.  He told Stiles as much.

“It’s none of my goddamn business if you’re killing yourself?” Stiles retorted.

“I’m not—”

“The hell you aren’t.  Have you looked in a mirror lately?  I came in here and found you unconscious with a needle in your arm, lying next to an almost empty bag of unidentifiable powder.  How long has this been going on, Derek?”

“What part of ‘none of your business’ confuses you?”

“The part where my friend would rather shoot werewolf heroin than actually see the light of day!  Do you really not see the problem here?”

Just as suddenly, all the rage drained out of Derek like a stopper had been pulled.  He had just woken up but he was still so tired, and he just wanted Stiles to leave.  “It’s not heroin.  The nightmares started again, and this is the only thing that stops them.  You know what that’s like.  After your mom…”

It was a low blow and it landed perfectly.  Stiles’ mouth pressed together in a tight line, his eyebrows furrowing, and he glanced back toward the door, like all he wanted to do was storm out of it.  He started to turn…

…and stopped.

“No.  I know what you’re trying to do, and _no_.”  He ran both of his hands through his hair, which had grown out enough that it stuck up at all angles when he was finished.  “Be an asshole all you want, I’m still not leaving.  Because the second I step out of here, I know that needle’s going back in your arm.”

Stiles was right.  Derek must’ve skipped right past the denial stage, because _I can stop any time I want to_ sounded laughable even in his own ears.  He’d had a problem; he’d fixed it.  He’d just managed, as usual, to do it in the worst possible way.

“What do you want me to do, Stiles?  Get by on maybe two hours’ sleep a night?  And when I do, relive the worst moments of my life every single time?”

Stiles’ face fell as his arms dropped to his sides.  “You’re not going outside, not talking to anyone.  I’m not even sure if you’ve been eating.  Is this really better than the nightmares?”

Derek didn’t answer.  If Stiles didn’t understand that, there was no way Derek could explain it to him.

They both spent a moment trying to stare the other down until Stiles finally blinked.  “Come with me.”

“What?  Where?”

“Your kitchen.”

“No.”

“Derek, I’m not asking you to go frolic in the sunlight.  Just come with me to the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Just…” Stiles rubbed a hand across his face, turned, and walked out of the room.

For a second, Derek thought he’d somehow succeeded in making Stiles leave.  But no, his heartbeat was still in the loft.  Derek groaned, got off the bed, and pulled a relatively-clean shirt over his head before going down the stairs.

Stiles was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, a hand clamped over his mouth and nose.  Derek looked around; everything looked normal.  “What am I supposed to be seeing here?”

Stiles eyes went wide.  “ _Seeing_?  You mean you don’t _smell_ that?  It hit me like a baseball bat when I walked by on my way in.”

Derek concentrated.  He hadn’t spent much time in the kitchen, true, but there couldn’t be…  His nose picked up something… off.  Okay, so he hadn’t taken the trash out in a while.  But the smell was strongest near the refrigerator, and when he opened it, Stiles leaned forward to take a peek, then dashed back into the living room, as far away as possible.

Everything in the refrigerator was rancid.  Derek slammed the door in disgust.

“You couldn’t even _smell_ that, dude,” Stiles said, his voice high as he pinched his nostrils shut.  “Tell me how that’s okay.  Tell me what justifies getting high and living in filth.”

Derek’s stomach churned hard, whether because of the smell – which he was still too accustomed to for it to be overpowering – or because of the whole situation, he couldn’t tell.  He walked out into the living room like he was on autopilot, knee bumping the corner of the sofa on the way.  The pain barely even registered.  “What…” he started, swallowing hard against a dry throat.  “What do I do?”

Stiles didn’t looked relieved, exactly, but the look of horror left his face.  “You go back in there and double bag that shit – all of it – while I open some windows.  We take it to the dumpster, and if it turns out I can breathe in the kitchen after that, I help you clean it.”

Derek nodded and went to get the trash bags.

&&&

Derek still had halfway-decent cleaning supplies, and Stiles did stick around to help.  He couldn’t go near the fridge without gagging, but the sink and the floor needed work, too.  Derek thought he saw Stiles’ eyes watering, but Stiles just turned away when ever Derek tried to look at him.

By the time they were done, the sun was beginning to set.  Derek looked around the kitchen, smelling only bleach and lemon, and asked, “What now?”

“Be brutally honest with me,” Stiles said.  “Is the state of your bathroom going to make me vomit?”

Derek ducked his head in shame.  “I… I don’t think so.  I’ve been using it more than the kitchen, so I think I would’ve noticed… something this bad.”

Stiles looked seriously skeptical, but once upstairs, all he did was frown at the slightly moldy shower grout and the rust ring in the toilet.  He opened all the windows in the bedroom and the bathroom, and they silently got to work.

The bathroom didn’t take as long, but when they were finished, Stiles let out a groan and leaned back against the wall to slide down and sit on his haunches.  After a few moments, he looked at his watch and groaned again.  “Fuck, I’m going to be late for dinner.”

Derek offered a hand to help him back to his feet, wondering what exactly to say next, but Stiles was already speaking.  “Alright, buddy, you’re lucky we’re on summer break.  And my dad leaves for a conference tomorrow, so I can come back and stay for a few days, but I’m expected to be at home tonight.”

“I’ll be fine—” Derek started, but Stiles glared at him with such sudden heat that the words dried up in his mouth.

“I don’t want you to be alone tonight,” he said, pulling out his phone.  “Let me see if Isaac or Boyd is free.”

“No!” Derek yelped, and he just barely stopped himself for lunging for the phone, but Stiles listened to him for once and put it back in his pocket, looking at Derek expectantly.  “I… I don’t want them to know about this.”

“They’re your pack,” he said softly.  “They’ll want to help you.  They’re already worried.”

Derek felt himself break out in a cold sweat.  “No, it’s… it’s because they _are_ in my pack.  I’m their alpha.  It goes against every instinct I have, to let them see me…”

Stiles had a look of compassion on his face, but he wouldn’t let Derek leave it at that.  “See you what?”

Derek shut his eyes and looked away.  It was bad enough to admit this to a human.  “Weak.  Vulnerable.”

When Derek glanced up again, Stiles was gnawing at his lower lip, deep in thought, and even when Derek had been held down by the alpha pack, Deucalion’s claws raking across his throat, he had never felt so deeply at someone’s mercy before.  Stiles could tell anyone and everyone if he wanted to.

“All right,” Stiles said after a long minute.  “For now.  I think they’re going to find out eventually, and I think you need to be the one to tell them.  But you’re obviously not ready for that.  So here’s what we’re going to do.  I don’t like it, and I don’t think you will, either, but I want you to be safe tonight.”

Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out the bag of gray powder.

Fortunately, Derek was too stunned to react as he had before when Stiles had threatened to flush it.  Derek hadn’t seen Stiles pocket it, probably done while taking a quick break from cleaning the bathroom, and he hadn’t smelled it on him.

Before Derek had a chance to process confusion into anger, Stiles said, “I’m not getting rid of this, okay?  We may need to wean you off of it slowly.  I’m going to say it again, and I want you to listen to my heartbeat.  I _will not_ dump this.  I will keep it safe until we know you don’t need it anymore.  Do you believe me?”

Derek, whose claws had come out but who was otherwise under control, nodded.

“Okay,” Stiles said, looking like he’d just managed to avoid stepping in front of a speeding bus.  “That’s the part you don’t like.  Here’s the part I’m not going to like.  Since I can’t stay with you tonight, you don’t want anyone else to stay, and we don’t know what happens if you quit cold turkey…”  Stiles took a deep breath.  “You’re going to show me what you do with it.  You’re going to take a normal dose to help you… sleep tonight, or whatever.  Absolutely no more than you’ve been taking, but no less, either.  I’m going to have to trust you on this not to try to do something incredibly stupid and take too much, and you’re going to trust me to hold on to the rest of it while we get this figured out.  Thoughts?”

Stiles had laid it all out, and even compromised as he was, Derek knew better than to try to argue with Stiles when he had formed a plan.  There had been no lie in Stiles’ promise to keep the stuff safe, and Derek hadn’t actually agreed to wean himself off anything.  This could be negotiated tomorrow, when Derek wasn’t exhausted from cleaning (since when had mere _cleaning_ exhausted him?) and had a full night’s sleep.

“You really what me to show you how I…?”

“No,” Stiles sighed.  “But I don’t want you to do anything stupid tonight, and since this stuff will knock you out until I can come back, we’re going to have to risk it.”

It wasn’t even 8 o’clock, but Derek wasn’t hungry and the idea of not having to think about any of this for a few hours was deeply appealing.  Stiles handed over the bag, and Derek went to work, calmly preparing the dose, getting into bed, and injecting himself with it.

“I’m going to stay here until you fall asleep,” Stiles said, taking the syringe gingerly and setting it on the nightstand.

“You don’t have to,” Derek said, already starting to slip under.  “I’ll be fine now.”

“No.  I need to know.”

_Know what?_ Derek thought, but he was beyond words by then.  The stuff took longer to hit his system these days, but when it did, the dying light from the window fractured into a color spectrum that made the whole room look like stained glass.  Except for Stiles.  All Derek could see of Stiles were the small drops of crystal that slid slowly down his cheeks.

&&&

When Derek woke, the sun was already streaming in through the blinds and he could hear someone puttering around downstairs.  His claws were already out before he remember the previous night, before he recognized Stiles’ heartbeat.

Fuck.

It wasn’t that Derek had been expecting Stiles to forget or flake out on him – he was the least likely person in Derek’s life to do that.  Derek just… didn’t know what to expect.  Knowing Stiles, he probably had researched half a dozen different detox procedures and somehow managed to send a sample of the gray powder to a crime lab for analysis.

Derek showered in the newly-clean bathroom, resting his head back against the tiles until the water ran cold.  The last thing he wanted to do was go downstairs and deal with Stiles.  But Stiles still had the precious last remains of Derek’s stash.  He would just have to find a way to get it back.  He didn’t even want to think about what was going to happen when he ran out this time.

Creeping carefully down the stairs, Derek managed to get right up behind Stiles, who was putting cans in the kitchen cupboards, and wait for him to turn around.  
   
“Mother of god!” Stiles yelped.  “Well, good to know you haven’t gotten less stalker-y?”  Then, oddly seriously: “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, Stiles.  That was the point.”

Something indecipherable flickered across Stiles’ expression for a fraction of a second before he broke into his usual grin.  “Since you’ve been eating like a broke college student, I thought I’d go grocery shopping.  Y’know: fruits, vegetables, meat that doesn’t end in ‘jerky.’”

Derek looked around at the stack of empty bags and the bags yet to be unpacked.  “How did you pay for all this stuff?”

“That cash you’ve got stuffed in a Mason jar at the back of the bookshelf.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red and his voice deepened.  “How the hell do you know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that,” Stiles said with an eye-roll.  “A hardcover three-volume set of the _Gulag Archipelago_ that’s sticking out about five inches from the rest of the books?  Really, Derek?  I am totally adding a picture of you to the Wikipedia page on hermits.”

“Stiles…”

“Okay, okay, I probably should’ve asked first.  But seriously, if it weren’t for the werewolf thing, you’d probably have scurvy by now.  Which reminds me: vitamin C.”  He chucked an orange at Derek’s head.

Derek caught it easily, intending to wing it right back at Stiles, but it smelled fresh and ripe, and before Derek could even think about it, he was using a claw to slice through the peel.

He was dividing it into segments before he noticed that Stiles was watching him, his lips slightly quirked.  “Close your eyes,” he said.

“What?”

“When you bite into it, close your eyes.”

Derek eyed him suspiciously.

“Oh my god,” Stiles yelped, throwing his hands up.  “I didn’t poison it!  Sniff it if you don’t believe me.  Or throw it away, whatever.”

Stiles seemed so worked up about it that Derek sighed and shut his eyes before biting the first piece in half.  There was a momentary bitter tang from the white pith he hadn’t bothered to peel away before the sweetness of the juice burst across his tongue.  God, when _was_ the last time he had eaten real food?  Or even bothered to taste it?  One bite of an orange and he was practically shivering.  He forced himself to savor the rest of the wedge, spitting the seeds into the palm of his hand.

As soon as he opened his eyes, Stiles turned away to finish putting the cans away, but even human ears could have heard the hitch in his breath.

&&&

Stiles hooked up his Wii to the barely-used TV and they played through all the sports games for most of the day; Derek was not given a choice.  Well, Stiles had said he could pick a game, but the boxes all looked the same to him – pictures of heavily-armed, blood-streaked men.  He didn’t understand why Stiles would want to play at war when his life was already so full of violence, but he didn’t ask.  And it did feel surprisingly good to crush Stiles at baseball, even if it was fake.

Stiles was “taking a break” – face-down on the couch like Derek couldn’t smell his sweat or hear his racing heartbeat – when he surprised Derek by wheezing, “Dinner?”

Derek wasn’t sure he was actually hungry, but Stiles needed to eat, and he’d probably expect Derek to join him.  “What are you making?” he asked dryly.

Stiles didn’t miss a beat.  “Chili.”  He popped back up to sit properly on the couch, grinning even though his cheeks were still flushed with exertion.  “And you’re going to help.”

“I don’t think you want me in the kitchen.”

“C’mon, if I can make it, it’s, like, the easiest thing ever.”

“So make it yourself.”

“You don’t cook, you don’t eat, Wolfman,” Stiles said, eyebrows furrowing, and Derek knew there would be no squirming out of it.

And it wasn’t a total disaster – though he had no intention of telling Stiles he’d managed to drip burning hot grease on his arm while he was draining the ground beef.  He healed before Stiles could see anything and give him crap about it.

They didn’t talk much over dinner, but the silence wasn’t as awkward as Derek had prepared himself for.  They even packed away the leftovers together in the plastic containers that Stiles had apparently bought for him.  Derek didn’t even grasp how disturbingly domestic it was until he realized that Stiles apparently planned to spend the night in the guest bedroom.  Derek knew there was a bed; there had to be some extra sheets around somewhere.

“I think we can fit in at least two movies before bed,” Stiles said, digging through one of his duffel bags.  “Burton Batman or Nolan Batman?”

“Do you have anything that’s not based on a comic book?”

Stiles shot him an exasperated look.  “Of course.  I was just trying to go for a theme.  _Silence of the Lambs_ and _Red Dragon_?”

“Burton Batman.”

That got a grin out of Stiles.  “Excellent choice.”

Somehow _Beetlejuice_ got added on to that as well, and Derek actually yawned when it was over.  Stiles looked at him, and Derek froze.  Somehow, he’d managed to forget.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Stiles said quietly as he plucked out the DVD and shut everything down.  “We’ll try giving you a half-dose and see how it goes.”

Derek nearly bit clean through his lip with all the things he wanted to say, most of them things that would make Stiles spit in his face and leave.

Stiles turned to face him.  “You looked good today, Derek.  Better than I’ve seen you since— Better than I’ve seen you in months.”

“That’s because I _slept_ last night.  You give me half a dose, tomorrow I’ll look like shit.”

“And you’ll probably feel like shit, yeah.  But you’ll get through it.”

Derek looked away.  The thought of going back to the dreams was terrifying.  But he’d been dulling his senses, living like a dog in the gutter, and that was liable to get him and what was left of his pack killed if they faced another threat.

Derek got ready for bed, brushed his teeth for the first time in god knew how long with the brand new toothbrush Stiles had bought him, and when he was finished, Stiles was sitting on the bed holding the familiar plastic bag.

Wordlessly, Derek got out the equipment he needed, and Stiles must have been paying close attention the previous night, because he measured out exactly half of what Derek had taken.  Before Derek could inject it, though, Stiles stood.

“Good night, Derek.  I… I can’t watch you do this again.”  He glanced down at the sealed bag clutched in his hand, then back at Derek.  “Wake me up if you need me.”

Derek didn’t expect to get much of a high on half a dose, and he didn’t.  He didn’t expect to fall asleep, either, but he was out within minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek woke up convinced he was actually on fire.  His entire body was burning, and it took him a long time to realize that the crackling sound wasn’t his searing flesh, but the wet rasp of breath in and out of his lungs.

The top sheet was tangled between his legs and he had soaked the bottom sheet with sweat.  As soon as he could move, he made his way downstairs – and straight to Stiles’ collection of duffel bags in the living room.  Derek’s sense of smell still felt dull, but he knew the scent of the powder, and he was getting faint traces of it from somewhere in the bags.  He pulled out DVD and video game cases, opening each one and sniffing them, checking every pocket of the bags before he realized that it _all_ smelled just a little bit like the powder, as if Stiles had rubbed the plastic bag over everything.

Derek growled and started to pull the cloth lining of the duffel bags apart, looking for anything hidden.  Nothing.

Of course.  Stiles wouldn’t leave it out here.  He’d keep it close to him.  Still aching and sweating, Derek crept into the guest room as quietly as he could, and even though he was far less than stealthy in his present state, Stiles was out cold on the mattress.  He hadn’t found sheets for it, but he was wrapped up in an old, soft quilt.

The bag with Stiles’ clothes in it had the same faint scent, and Derek shook out each item before tossing it aside.  When the duffel was empty and the powder was still nowhere to be found, he swung around to look at the bed.

Where Stiles was sitting up, staring at him, mouth agape.

“ _Where is it_?” Derek growled, his voice dropping into alpha command mode.

“I wasn’t going to leave it sitting out,” Stiles said.  His tone was even, but his heart was racing and that merely served to anger Derek more.  His skin was still burning, and Stiles had the only thing that would stop it.

“Where is it?” he growled again, lunging on top of Stiles and pinning him to the bed by his throat.

Stiles reeked of fear, but his face betrayed nothing.  When he didn’t answer, Derek followed his line of sight to look at Derek’s own hand, the one not holding Stiles down, claws out and raised.  Derek didn’t remember doing that.  “Are you going to hurt me?” Stiles asked, his voice only quavering a little, considering the speed of his heartbeat.  “Because you could.  You could tear me apart if you wanted to.  Is that what you want?”

“No,” Derek finally said, pulling away from Stiles.  When Stiles sat up, Derek could see four pinpricks on the side of his neck; evidently, all of Derek’s claws had been out.  He hadn’t been this out of control since… actually, he couldn’t _ever_ remember being this far out of control.

He opened his mouth to apologize, then shut it again as Stiles pressed a hand to Derek’s forehead.  “Jesus, you’re burning up, even for you.  I could feel it coming off of you in waves.  Get in the shower.”

The urge to fight back had left him completely, and Derek went straight for the guest room shower.  They hadn’t cleaned it the other day, but it hardly got used and wasn’t dirty.  Derek stepped in, not bothering to remove his boxers as he turned on the water as cold as it would go.

The spray stung his burning skin, and Derek half expected the water to evaporate into steam as soon as it hit him.  It didn’t, of course, and Derek stared at his hands, watching his claws slowly retract.  Eventually, the water began to cool him, but only from the outside – he still felt like his insides were boiling, even when he began to shiver.

He shut off the water, standing mostly naked and dripping without a towel in sight, feeling utterly lost and humiliated.  There was a soft knock at the door before it cracked open just enough that a hand holding a towel extended into the bathroom.  Derek took it, and the door closed again.

Being a born wolf meant Derek was rarely squeamish about nudity, but he felt utterly naked leaving the bathroom in nothing but a towel.  He’d left his sodden boxers on the floor of the shower, not that they would have helped much.  But before he could get to the stairs, Stiles was waiting for him just outside the kitchen with a glass of cold water.  Derek drained it quickly, and when he handed it back, Stiles said, “Put something on and come back down here, okay?”

Derek nodded, strangely glad to have someone tell him what to do next.  Apparently he’d lost the ability to decide for himself.  He put on pajama pants and a fresh t-shirt, but despite the heat still searing through his body, he was tempted to pull on his jacket, just to feel less _naked_.

Again, Stiles had water waiting for him when he came back down, and Derek tried to drink it slower this time as they both went to sit on the couch.  He noticed how tired Stiles looked – not surprising, since it had only been about three hours since Derek had gone to sleep.  Fuck, half a dose only bought him three hours.

“Nightmares?” Stiles asked after a long period of silence.

Derek just glared at him.

“Okay, stupid question.  Look, I researched non-chemical ways to reduce nightmares, but you’re not going to like them.  There’s meditation and writing and… talking.”

“Talking?”

“About the nightmares.  Telling someone else.”

Derek could feel his eyes start to glow red with fury.  “Do you really think that after more than six years, _talking_ is going to—”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, surprisingly firmly.  “Yeah, I kind of do.  Because wolfy healing doesn’t do a damn thing for PTSD.”

“I’m not crazy,” Derek growled, unable to keep his fangs from dropping.

“Never said you were.  But you’ve been through so much trauma I’m amazed you’re still functioning at all.”  Then, softer: “I understand why you started using that stuff.  I do.  But you can’t tell me that it fixed anything, that you’re better off than you were before.”

Derek shut his eyes and breathed deeply until he felt his anger slowly recede.  “I can’t control the dreams,” he managed.  “And my control is all I have.”

Suddenly there was a cool hand on his forearm; Stiles had slid next to him on the couch.  “That’s not true.  You have… okay, this is going to sound corny as fuck, but you have me and Isaac and Boyd.  And Scott if you really need him.  And Lydia sort of indirectly, you know, depending on her mood and the weather and… okay, maybe not Lydia.”

Derek almost smiled at that, but couldn’t quite manage it.  “None of you can help me with this.”

Stiles shook his head.  “That might not be true.  Did you ever talk about the fire with Laura?”

“Not… not really.”

“It can help.  They put me on medication for the panic attacks, but they didn’t go away until I started talking to someone.  And not my dad – we just… couldn’t.”

“You just want me to start talking about the fire?”  Derek felt like it would be easier to saw his own arm off.

“And Erica.  And Peter.  What happened with the alpha pack.”  Stiles gave a small, rueful smile.  “I told you that you weren’t going to like it.”

Derek closed his eyes again and leaned his head against the back of the couch.  What was Stiles expecting from him?  Derek wasn’t even sure the words would come if he tried.  Laura had talked to him about maybe seeing a therapist after they left Beacon Hills, but Derek didn’t even want a stranger knowing that he was responsible for the death of his entire family.  Stiles hadn’t actually said that he expected Derek to talk to _him_ about any of it, but it was implied.  He couldn’t tell the full truth about the fire to any therapist even if he wanted to, nor could he talk about the alpha pack.  And he couldn’t talk about any of it with his betas.

The hand returned to his forearm, but this time it was warm and gripping him tightly.  “Derek,” he heard Stiles say.  “Derek, you’re shaking.”

Derek opened his eyes and came to the sudden realization that he was freezing.  The sweat-soaked clothes he was wearing now felt like ice against his skin, and his teeth were starting to chatter.  “Cold,” he managed.

Stiles was already up off the couch.  “I’ll get you some blankets.”

Derek didn’t know how Stiles knew where to find them, but he’d found one for himself.  It seemed like an eternity before he returned with the quilt that had been on his bed and a second one that smelled stale and dusty.

“These were all I could find.  Remind me to take you shopping for more than one set of bedding.”  He glanced over Derek.  “Better take that shirt off.  It’s probably making it worse.”

Derek wordlessly stripped out of the shirt and accepted the blankets, allowing Stiles to help him wrap himself up and lay down across the couch.  He even lifted up to allow Stiles to sit at one end and hold Derek’s head in his lap.

“I don’t guess your, uh, supplier said anything about withdrawal symptoms.”

Derek growled by way of answer.

“Didn’t think so.  Are you tired at all?

“No.”

“Okay, that’s… that’s probably for the best right now.”

“Why?  Are you going to make me talk all night?”

Derek’s head shook a little with the vibration as Stiles laughed.  “I’m here to help you, not torture you.  I wouldn’t even subject _me_ to that.”  Then his tone became more serious.  “But I’ll always listen.  Please remember that.  If you need to talk, I am actually capable of shutting up.”

Then he leaned down and sort of awkwardly hugged Derek’s shoulder and head.  Derek didn’t complain because he was cold and Stiles’ body heat felt good.  He had the brief urge to ask for more, but bit down on his lip just in time.

“You want me to put in another movie?” Stiles asked.

That would mean Stiles getting up and leaving him there, cold and shivering, if only for a minute.  “Not really.”

“Okay.  You feeling any warmer?”

Derek still felt the cold deep in the core of him, just as he had felt the burning heat, but the blankets were helping.  “A little.”

“Good.  I might nod off here in a few minutes, but if you need something, just wake me up.”  With that, Stiles laid one arm easily across Derek’s shoulder and sank back into the couch.

The thought of trying to find where Stiles had hidden the bag only came in passing – Derek was still shaking, and he didn’t want to leave the cocoon of blankets.  And Stiles’ arm over him felt so warm, even through all the fabric, that he briefly wished Stiles would stretch out next to him.  There wasn’t much room on the couch, but if Stiles held him close…

But Stiles was already falling asleep, his breathing evening out.  Derek tried to focus on Stiles’ heartbeat to block out the unfamiliar coldness.  He never quite managed to drop into sleep, but the steady beat lulled him into a drifting haze as the shivering eventually stopped.

&&&

Once daylight was shining through the curtains, Derek could no longer stay still, even though Stiles was snoring.  Make that _especially_ because Stiles was snoring.

The sun hurt his eyes.  Usually he could consciously scale down his heightened vision, but he seemed unable to do it now and his head throbbed.  Maybe this was what being hung over felt like.  Still, he gravitated toward the window.  The bone-deep cold was gone, but the warmth of the sun still felt good on his skin.

There was a gnawing in his stomach that took him a good thirty seconds to recognize as hunger.  Had he been merely feeding himself, when he remembered to, out of habit all this time?  It was disturbing, being so out of sync with his body.  All his life, he’d been taught how to listen to his body, control it, feel its changes and know what they meant.  And then his survival had depended on it.  He couldn’t believe that he’d not only thrown that away, but that he hadn’t even realized it until now.

Despite his hunger, the fully-stocked kitchen intimidated him with choice.  But he wasn’t too out of it to hunt for breakfast food, and even his rudimentary cooking skills were up to the task.

He intended to let Stiles sleep as long as possible, but thirty seconds after the bacon hit the frying pan, Stiles was stumbling into the kitchen, making soft humming noises of approval.  “Bacon, yes,” Stiles mumbled, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.  “Bacon makes everything better.”  He went for the fridge and pulled out two cartons of orange juice.  “Are you a pulp guy or a no-pulp guy?  I didn’t know, so I got both.”

Derek snorted.  “If I want pulp, I’ll eat an orange.”  He definitely did not blush thinking about doing just that the day before.

Stiles made an offended noise.  “This is never going to work out between us.  I’m sorry, we’re too different.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Derek said dryly, wondering if that was something Stiles thought about, the two of them.  It was a thought that was popping up distressingly often for Derek with Stiles making himself impossible to ignore.

“More pulp for me then,” Stiles said cheerily, hopping up on a kitchen stool and drinking straight from the carton as he watched Derek finish up the bacon and scramble some eggs.  When Derek turned around, Stiles was waiting for him with two plates and a bag of shredded cheddar.

As breakfasts went, it was fairly basic, but Stiles grinned anyway, particularly when Derek followed his lead and drank his pulpless orange juice from the carton.  That had worked out pretty nicely, actually.

&&&

Derek put up an enormous amount of resistance before he let Stiles drag him out shopping for bedding, but truthfully, it felt kind of good to get out of the loft.  His head still ached and he felt exhausted, but he was pretty sure laying around all day would only make him dwell on it.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to try to sleep, if he even could.

Shopping with Stiles was an experience unto itself.  Derek knew Stiles couldn’t possibly be like this when he went to the store himself – after all, he’d managed the groceries – but the Bed Bath & Beyond had to have been specifically designed with ADHD kids in mind.  Anything with “As Seen on TV” written on the box yanked at Stiles’ attention like a fishing line.

“Do you think you need one of these?”

“Stiles, _nobody_ needs a spinning mop.”

“You’re gonna need some kind of mop, because— _ooh_!”

His eyes suddenly went wide as he reached for something called a Pocket Hose, the words THE HOSE THAT GROWS written prominently on the box.  Before he could even open his mouth, Derek swatted his hand and said, “No.”

“But—”

“ _No_.”

“Fine,” Stiles muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “I’ve already got one of my own, anyway.” And then Derek could’ve sworn he heard, “In my pants.”

They managed to buy several sets of sheets and some extra pillows and blankets, plus fresh cleaning supplies, before Derek gave in to his urge to throttle Stiles.  Just barely.

They got lunch from a Mediterranean food truck and sat in the shade to eat.  The heat didn’t bother Derek, and the brightness of the sun was dampened by his sunglasses now, but Stiles was starting to turn pink and began shedding layers of clothing until he was down to a t-shirt that said “My other car is your mom.”  The sight of Stiles wolfing down a gyro should have been disgusting, but he had a smear of tzatziki sauce on his cheek that Derek wanted to lean over and brush off with his thumb.  Or his tongue.

Before his brain could process that thought, Stiles had finished his last bite and cleaned his face – his whole face – with a napkin.  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Derek bit back on the urge to simply say “fine” and instead took stock of himself.  “Better,” he said.  “There’s still some light sensitivity, but my headache’s gone.”   He paused.  “Should my headache be gone?  My senses are still dulled, but shouldn’t I feel a lot worse?”

“You might come nightfall.  Or you might not.  We know nothing about this stuff – could be that your metabolism and healing will burn the rest of it out of your system and cover the physical withdrawal.  But…”

“But?”

Stiles grimaced.  “I don’t think there’s a shortcut on the psychological addiction.  Sleep and nightmares both have a big psychological component.  And you don’t crave the stuff now, right?”

Derek shook his head.  “I think about it if I’m not doing anything else, but I only feel like I really need it at night.”

“I think that’s the psychological part.  The part that’s going to be the hardest to get through.”

Derek buried his face against his hands.  “I can’t go back to the nightmares, Stiles.  I can’t live like _that_ , either.”

“I know,” Stiles said quietly, resting a hand on Derek’s shoulder.  “But you don’t have to do this alone.  I’m not going anywhere.  And we can call Isaac and Boyd if you want.”

“They wouldn’t come.”

“Of course they would.  They’re still your pack, Derek.”

“Are they?” Derek asked miserably.  “I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

The hand on Derek’s shoulder gave a squeeze.  “They’re hurting, too.  Scott told me that when Isaac hangs out with him nowadays, most of the time it seems like he’s somewhere else in his head.  I don’t think Boyd’s parents know where he goes half the time.  They see their alpha dealing with it on his own and I think they decided that’s what they’re supposed to do.”

A chasm opened up in Derek’s chest when he thought of his betas suffering alone.  He’d hardly spared them a thought; he’d convinced himself they didn’t need him.  Still, though, he didn’t want to add to their pain by putting his own on their shoulders.  “I still don’t think I can face them.”

“I think it would help all of you,” Stiles said.  “But I get it.  I haven’t told them anything.  Once you’re clean, will you take them back?”

Derek nodded, the lump in his throat making him unable to speak.  He couldn’t imagine they’d want to take _him_ back.

They sat in silence for another minute or so before Stiles said, “Let’s go find somewhere air-conditioned before I melt.”

&&&

The rest of the house wasn’t nearly as filthy as the kitchen and Derek’s bathroom had been, but it still needed a good cleaning.  Stiles didn’t even have to talk Derek into it this time, and splitting up the work made it faster. 

The evening passed with another movie marathon – well, okay, it was just the extended version of _Fellowship of the Ring_ , but it _felt_ like a marathon.  Derek had no idea how Stiles, who couldn’t stop moving all day long, could sit transfixed for nearly four hours, draped across Derek’s couch but completely still.  Even Derek had started to fidget by the time the Fellowship were paddling down the river. 

It had nothing to do with the way Stiles’ shirt was riding up just a little, exposing a dark trail of hair leading down from his navel, a sharp contrast to the pale skin around it.  Nothing at all.

Once Frodo and Sam had finally sailed off in search of Mordor, Stiles was yawning so hard that his whole body was stretching with it, pulling the t-shirt up until Derek could see softly defined abs.  It was definitely time for bed.

Stiles put the DVD away and turned to Derek.  “So, how do you want this to go tonight?”

He waited for more, a suggestion from Stiles, but apparently Stiles was leaving it all up to Derek.  “Maybe… try without anything.  See if it really is out of my system.  Do you, uh, still have—”

“Yes,” Stiles said, giving Derek a moment to read his heartbeat.  “I do.  But can we make a deal that if it gets intolerable, you won’t try to attack me this time?”

Stiles looked genuinely concerned, and Derek felt the weight of guilt pressing against his chest, because he had to answer honestly, too.  He could still see the four small puncture marks on the side of Stiles’ neck.  “I don’t know if I can promise that,” he said quietly.

Stiles scooted closer to him on the couch, putting a hand on his knee, and Derek couldn’t help staring at it as Stiles spoke.  “You’ve been able to stop yourself from hurting me – I mean really hurting me – so far.  Just… maybe you could stop before anything sharp touches my skin?  Considering the look of this place, I hate to tell you to punch a wall, but if that’s what it takes—”   Derek snorted.  “If it is mostly psychological at this point, theoretically you can control it.  You’ll still want it, but your body won’t crave it to the point where it physically overrides your control like it did before.”

That sounded overly optimistic to Derek, but he was determined not to frighten Stiles again.  Quite frankly, he couldn’t figure out why Stiles hadn’t left already.  But after a quick squeeze of Derek’s knee, Stiles smiled tiredly and headed toward the guest bedroom, which had a brand new sheet and comforter set – bright red, because Stiles was still a little bit of an asshole and insisted one room not be decorated “like the inside of a cave,” direct quote.

Derek headed upstairs to his own room.  He was sleepy, but he didn’t foresee himself falling asleep for a few hours, if at all.  He’d gotten at most three hours the night before, but in the past he’d been able to go much longer without sleep.  Of course, it was usually because he was coasting on the adrenaline of facing some sort of grisly death.

Stiles had changed Derek’s sheets before dinner, and though he’d washed them, underneath the familiar smell of Derek’s detergent, the plasticky smell of the packaging still clung to them.  Derek figured tonight was as good as any to break them in and mark them with his scent.  _Really_ mark them.  With any luck, it would relax him and possibly help him sleep.

As Derek reached into his boxers, he had the startling thought that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, the last time he’d _wanted_ to do this.  He almost laughed – there was a whole anti-drug campaign right there.

It took him a while to get hard, like his body needed time to remember how, but Derek wasn’t in a rush.  He tried to remember what he used to do when he was looking for more than just a quick release.  Fingering himself was probably a little too much for right now, and he didn’t want to go hunting for the lube anyway, so he stretched out on his back on the bed, pulling his boxers off and feeling the softness of the sheets all over his body.  He’d been pissed at Stiles for insisting on what seemed like a stupidly expensive thread count, but now they felt worth every penny.

He absently dragged a hand up and down his chest until his thumb caught the edge of a nipple and he shivered.  It took some restraint to tease himself, toy with both of his nipples lightly until they were pebbled and demanding more attention.  Pinching was too much, but gently rolling them between his thumb and forefinger made his blood start to rush south, and he waited as long as he could stand before reaching down and fisting his cock.

He started slowly, rubbing the foreskin over the head as he felt himself harden in his own hand.  It felt good, remembering a long-lost pleasure, like biting into the orange.  Along with that sense memory came the hitch in Stiles’ breathing, the uptick in his heartbeat as he ignored Derek a little too studiously.  Derek had done that to him just by eating a piece of fruit.

He knew he was heading into dangerous territory here.  Stiles might be better able to take care of himself than most of the adults Derek knew, but he was still seventeen, and also the only person Derek trusted to help him now.  Derek had never really fantasized about specific people when he jerked off – Kate had been the exception, but for a long time after the fire, just the thought of her face nearly made him retch.  So Derek fantasized about sensations, bodies, racing heartbeats and the heady smell of someone else’s arousal.

So if he just imagined a strong hand wrapping around his cock, long, nimble fingers starting up a slow, steady rhythm, maybe that was all right.  There was no need to hurry, and it felt good after so long.  Not the sudden, ethereal high of the drug, but something grounded in his body, in his muscles and bones.  The inward focus made him hyperaware of the slide of the sheets against his skin, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his other hand stroking his chest.

His cock was fully hard now, starting to leak a little at the tip, and as he rubbed his thumb over it to spread the slickness around, his mind wandered a little further.  To the sweet friction of skin against skin.  To a smooth, leanly-muscled body, lithe and flexible, pressed up against his own.  Panting breaths and a racing heartbeat, soft cries of pleasure.  Bright amber eyes flying wide open…

Despite the long buildup, Derek’s orgasm hit him out of nowhere.  It rushed through him like a wave, leaving tingling pulses in its wake as he kept stroking himself past the point of oversensitivity, wanting to feel that, too, the nearly-painful sharpness of it that made his abs clench until he let go entirely, feeling a strange sense of peace rush in.

He had the presence of mind to clean himself off with a tissue, but when he laid back down, he was surprised to find the calmness still there, quieting his mind and body.  He didn’t fall asleep right away, but he drifted slowly, until finally he was so deeply relaxed that sleep took over.

&&&

It couldn’t have been more than an hour before the nightmares hit.  Though they were as intense as ever and Derek woke up sweating, he didn’t feel as though his skin was on fire this time, and some of the immediate terror backed off as he dragged himself fully awake and made himself pull on his boxers and a pair of sweatpants.

He went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then came back and sat on the bed.  He didn’t especially want to try to go back to sleep, so he descended the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.  This, of course, was negated entirely when he accidentally turned the ice maker on while trying to get a glass of water.

“Derek?” he heard softly from the guest room.

He spun quickly to tell Stiles it was okay, not to get up, but the glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.  And then, all he could do was stare down at the mess.  He couldn’t clean it up; his hands were shaking too badly.  Maybe the rest of him, too.  When had that started?

That was how Stiles found him, standing in the kitchen surrounded by ice and water and shards of glass, staring at his hands.

“Jesus,” Stiles breathed.  “Don’t move, I’ve got it.”  And, piece by piece, he picked the glass up.  He cleaned up the rest of it, too, while Derek just stood there, watching as Stiles mopped up the water with a wad of paper towels and tossed the melting ice cubes in the sink.

Derek didn’t know how long Stiles had been calling his name before he felt warm hands cup his face and he blinked back to awareness.  “Thank god,” Stiles said.  “I was afraid I was going to have to slap you, and as satisfying as that would have been, I don’t think it would’ve ended well for me.”  Derek didn’t say anything, merely blinked at him.  “You’re shaking all over.  Are you cold again?”

Derek had to take a moment to process that.  “No.”

“Derek, you’re freaking me out a little.”

“I’m kind of… out of it,” Derek managed.

Stiles sighed, sounding relieved, though his brow was still furrowed.  “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“I don’t…”  Derek paused.  He legitimately didn’t know what he wanted to do.  He didn’t think he wanted to go back upstairs, but what else was there?

“Tell you what, come to my room,” Stiles said, taking Derek by the hand like he would a child and leading him away from the kitchen.  Derek wasn’t even offended by it; Stiles’ hand felt warm and solid, an anchoring point.  “Change of venue.  Maybe you can get settled in there.”

And it did help, Stiles tucking him into the guest bed.  It was a little too warm, but the pressure of the blankets around him was soothing.  Like being held.

Stiles extended his hand toward Derek, like he intended to run his fingers through Derek’s hair, but he seemed to change his mind at the last moment and pulled back.  “Need anything else?” he asked.

“Where are you going?”

“Couch.  Pretty sure I could crash on any horizontal surface right about now.”

“Stay,” Derek said, the word out of his mouth before he could think better of it.

“Um.” Stiles looked around the sparsely furnished room.  “There’s just the bed, and I know I said ‘any horizontal surface,’ but hardwood floors aren’t exactly—”

Derek rolled his eyes; apparently Stiles’ babbling brought him back to himself a little.  “In the bed.”

“Oh.”  Stiles’ lips pursed around the sound, and suddenly Derek couldn’t help but stare at Stiles’ mouth.  Soon it was moving again, rapidly as usual.  “I guess it’s a pretty big bed.  Just to warn you, I kind of flop around in my sleep, but you can shove me out of the way if you need to.  I’ll usually just roll over without waking up.”

He circled around to the other side of the bed and Derek watched as Stiles untucked his side of the covers, carefully sliding in and keeping his space.  Derek was surprised to find he didn’t want Stiles to do that.

But Derek remained still.  His steady gaze seemed to be enough to make Stiles anxious.  Derek’s thoughts were simple, short and dazed, but he didn’t want Stiles to feel anxious.  Not now.  He forced himself to talk; talking would make Stiles comfortable.  “What were those things you mentioned the other day?  The things to reduce nightmares.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up.  “The things I said you wouldn’t like?”

“Yes.”

“Well, um,” Stiles began, “they sound kind of trite.  Apart from, y’know, talking to someone, which I already told you about, there’s different kinds of meditation.  Before you go to sleep, you try to clear your mind of thoughts.  Or you purposefully think about good things, concentrate on how they make you feel.  It’s not, like, a cure, but it’s supposed to help.”

Stiles had started fidgeting, and no, that wasn’t right.  Derek couldn’t have said why, but he needed Stiles to be calm and relaxed, especially since Derek still felt involuntary trembles in his arms and hands.  So he pushed toward the middle of the bed, getting into Stiles’ space.  He didn’t move to embrace him, just buried his head against Stiles’ neck and pressed in close.

“Whoa, okay,” Stiles said, going perfectly still.  “So now this is a thing.  That is happening.  Derek, are you alright?”

“Don’t know,” Derek muttered, his voice muffled against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles gave a quick shiver.

“You’re… you’re in bed with me and you’re close to me.  Like, really, really close.  I’m not sure but there might be some nuzzling?  Just wanted to update you on the situation.  In case that’s not what you want to be happening.  Because it is.  Happening.”

Derek lifted his head.  He knew Stiles must get this close with Scott – they smelled too much like each other sometimes for there not to be a lot of body contact – so Stiles should be all right with this in principle.  Was Derek the problem?  “Is it okay?”

He felt Stiles slowly relax, muscle by muscle.  “If that’s what you want, yeah.  I don’t want to brag, but I’m a pretty awesome at cuddling.  Nine out of ten body pillows agree, and the tenth one’s a jerk, anyway.”

His voice was strained, like he was trying to joke and not quite making it, but when Derek didn’t move away, Stiles put his arms around him.  “Fuck, you’re still shaking a little.  Is this what you need?”

Derek tucked his head back against Stiles’ shoulder and nodded.

“O-okay.  I just wanted to make sure you’re cool with this, because I never really pictured you as a snuggler.  I guess it kind of makes sense, though.”  He made a soft, low noise, something that sounded to Derek like sorrow.  “I mean, when was the last time someone touched you just to touch you?  You’ve got to need that, right?  Everybody does.”

Derek remained silent, but Stiles squeezed him a little bit tighter.  Derek could feel each of Stiles’ fingers spread out across his back, the solid presence at his front, and he remembered what he’d done just a few hours ago.  What he’d imagined as he was jerking off.  He hadn’t had the time to feel guilty about it then, but he did now, especially when Stiles was holding him so carefully.  Derek could feel himself tremble a little harder, but at least he was too ashamed to feel aroused.

All Stiles did was rub a hand up and down Derek’s back, a slow, soothing motion that Derek didn’t think he deserved.  But his body disagreed, and the shivering faded, though it didn’t go away entirely.  Soon he began to feel sleepy, but he didn’t want to fall asleep.  And Stiles was still stroking his back, so he was obviously awake.  Derek didn’t really want to talk about the details of his nightmares, but he had to start somewhere.

“It’s not like I think about it all the time,” Derek said, breaking the quiet in the room.

“Think about what?” Stiles asked softly.

“The fire.  That’s… that’s what the nightmares are about.”

“Always?”

No.  Kate showed up, of course, sometimes with the fire, sometimes without.  And Laura and Peter and the betas, in various forms.  Sometimes they were burning, too.  “Usually.  But it’s not like a… a story or anything.  It’s just images and sounds.”  Scenes Peter had shown him from the fire: hands and claws alike scraping at glass, the home that had been their protection crumbling around them, crackling and screaming.  Kate’s grinning face.  Peter clawing his way up out of the ground.  Erica’s body, charred and blackened instead of cut in half.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered.  “That’s terrible.  You don’t deserve to go through that every time you close your eyes.” 

Before he could control his reaction, Derek went rigid in Stiles arms, and Stiles’ hand paused on his back.  “Unless,” Stiles whispered, his voice cracking.  “You think you _do_ deserve it.” 

Derek tried to consciously relax, but he just ended up breathing harder, his heart racing so fast that even a human would be able to tell.  Particularly a human with most of his body wrapped around Derek.

“I know you feel responsible for Erica and Peter – even though that _wasn’t_ your fault – but this is about more than that, isn’t it?  Do you… do you blame yourself for the fire?”

He wanted to say no, wanted to go back to Stiles just silently holding him, but he’d already given himself away.

“Derek, _why_?  You were just a kid then.  You were at school, right?  So you think you should have known to go home and save them?”

Derek shook his head, a jerky motion against Stiles’ shoulder.  Part of him wanted to yell _stop_ , to get up and leave, to find something, _anything_ that would push the feeling away.  But part of him actually wanted Stiles to drag it out of him, to make him say it.  He’d hidden the truth so deeply because of Laura, because she was the only thing he’d had left and if he’d told her, he would have lost her.  Just like he’d lose Stiles, but he could feel the words pressing against his vocal cords and he wouldn’t be able to hold them back much longer.

“Then what is it?” Stiles asked, resuming the stroke of his hand down Derek’s back.

“Kate,” Derek croaked miserably.

And then proceeded to spill all of it, starting with meeting Kate as the substitute P.E. teacher whose gaze always lingered on him a little longer than the rest, who made him pick up the equipment at the end of the period so he’d be alone in the locker room showers when she came in.  Who had met him in secret for months, not just fucking him but asking questions about his life, his family until he thought she cared.  Who told him she loved him, then sent three of her hunter buddies to surround the Hale house with mountain ash, pour chemicals down the hidden entrance to the basement that Derek had shown her once, right at the time she knew most of the family would be home. 

Who chained him up years later in that same basement and did everything she could to shred whatever dignity he had left.

Through all of it, Stiles’ hand never stopped rubbing his back, never slowed down, not even when Derek’s voice broke and he had to wait for it to come back.  Only when he was finally finished did Stiles dig his fingers into Derek’s back to clutch him as tight as he could.  “Jesus,” Stiles whispered, burying his face against Derek’s hair.  “I’d dig that bitch up and kill her again if I could.”

“If I hadn’t told her everything—” Derek began miserably.

“She’d have found a way anyway,” Stiles finished.  “Look, I spent maybe ten minutes total around the woman and I could tell she was psychotic.  She was going to… do what she did no matter what.  She probably even tried other stuff before going after you.”

“But I—”

“You were a teenage boy.  I’d probably have done the exact same thing you did if someone like that seemed the least bit interested in me.  I’d have lost my _mind_ trying to make her happy.  She used you, Derek.  She was an adult and you were a child.”

“I was sixteen.  I should have known—”

“What, that a hot older woman who was finally paying attention to you was out to kill your whole family?  Why would that have possibly crossed your mind?  Your family had been living safely here for generations.  How could you have known?”

Derek knew what Stiles was trying to do, but it still felt like twisting the knife.  “I didn’t even question it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles whispered.  “It wasn’t your fault.  None of it was your fault.  I know you don’t think of yourself as a victim, and I don’t want you to, but you were.  You were every bit her victim as the rest of your family, except you were taken advantage of sexually – which, legally, was rape – and then physically and psychologically tortured.  Even if you did something wrong, which you _didn’t_ , haven’t you paid enough?”

“It’ll never be enough,” Derek whispered miserably.

Stiles was silent a moment before asking, “Am I the only one you’ve told?”

Derek nodded.

“Not even Laura?”

“Especially not Laura.”

“Christ, you’ve been keeping it a secret this long?  I’m amazed you didn’t try this werewolf heroin shit years ago.”

“I couldn’t.   Laura would’ve—”

For the first time Stiles pulled back and tilted Derek’s chin up, meeting his eyes.  “She would’ve told you what I’m telling you now.  That it wasn’t your fault, and slowly killing yourself won’t bring them back.”

Derek tried to push him away, unable to bear the earnestness in Stiles’ eyes.  “Don’t you think I’ve tried telling myself that?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted.  “But you haven’t heard anyone else tell you that, and maybe that’s part of the problem.”

“What, you’re going to absolve me of this?”

Stiles brushed his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone, but Derek didn’t jerk away.  “I would if I could.  It’s not my forgiveness you want, but if it helps, I can forgive you for the mistakes you made since I met you.  I forgive you for cutting yourself off from the rest of your pack and finding a dangerous way to escape the nightmares.  I even forgive you for knocking my head against the steering wheel – which really fucking hurt, by the way.”

Derek wanted to grumble that Stiles was taking this too lightly, but Stiles’ steady heartbeat told Derek he meant every word he said. 

And then Stiles’ face fell.  “Sorry, I just remembered why you tried to give me a concussion.  I used your body to get Danny to do what I wanted.  I should be asking _your_ forgiveness.”

“Y-you don’t have to,” Derek stuttered, thrown by the sudden turn in the conversation.

“I feel like I do,” Stiles said.  “I’m sorry for using you like that.  It wouldn’t have been right anyway, but especially not after what you’ve been through.”

Truthfully, Derek bore Stiles no resentment over it.  It had gotten them the information he needed, and it wasn’t like Derek was unaccustomed to being stared at.  “It’s all right.  You didn’t know.”

Stiles pulled Derek back into his arms.  “You didn’t know either,” he whispered.  “You didn’t know who Kate was or what she was planning to do.  You didn’t know the alpha pack was so close when you let Boyd and Erica go.”

“Not the same.”

“Maybe not.  But it’s still not your fault.  Maybe if you hear me say it enough times, you’ll start to believe it.”

“Maybe,” Derek said to appease Stiles, but doubtful it would actually have any effect.

“You can forgive yourself, though.  I’m not saying it’s easy or that I even know how, but it’s possible.  And I think that’s the key to the nightmares.”

After that, Derek fell silent, because what else could he say?  He still felt like he was too damaged to be fixed, no matter what Stiles said.  How was he supposed to just let go of seven years of blaming himself, even if he _could_ believe it wasn’t his fault?

A few minutes later, Stiles let out a ferocious yawn, and his arms were too wrapped around Derek to cover his own mouth.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Still tired.  You?”

“I don’t know,” Derek muttered.  His eyelids were heavy, but his brain was spinning, and he couldn’t imagine falling asleep anytime soon.

“Flip over,” said Stiles, opening his arms and poking at Derek’s side.  He assumed Stiles wanted more room, but as soon as Derek was facing away, Stiles scooted right up against his back, draping an arm over Derek’s stomach and resting his cheek between Derek’s shoulder blades.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked dumbly, body starting to tighten up again.

“Being the big spoon,” Stiles chuckled.  “This okay?”

Derek tried to force himself to relax.  It was easier than he anticipated, with Stiles’ warmth at his back and Stiles’ arm tight around his middle.  “Fine.”

“’kay, good.  I’m probably gonna drift off pretty soon.   If you fall asleep and the nightmares come back, just wake me.  I’ll be right here.”

&&&

Eventually, Derek did fall asleep, but when he woke up soaked in a cold sweat, Stiles was already awake, smoothing his hand down Derek’s arm and whispering soft, reassuring nonsense in his ear.

Derek drifted off again, and there were no nightmares this time, though he wasn’t sure waking up with Stiles like that hadn’t been a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, at least the “Stiles in his bed” part (or, more accurately, “Derek in Stiles’ bed” part) was real.  If either of them had moved in their sleep, they’d moved back in the night, so that Stiles was still at Derek’s back, limbs wrapped around him like a monkey’s.   There was also, however, the issue of Stiles’ morning wood pressed perilously close to the crack of Derek’s ass and the faint scent of his arousal in the air.  But Stiles was completely still – for once – and his grip was loose enough for Derek to slip out with only an unconscious noise of protest from a sleeping Stiles.

It was at least past sunrise this time, but still early, and Derek wanted to let Stiles sleep in.  He’d barely slept more than Derek had over the past two nights, and it would start to take its toll pretty soon.  So Derek declined to cook breakfast, instead just helping himself to one of the protein bars in the cupboard (Stiles even knew what flavor Derek liked – when did _that_ happen?) and preparing to work out.

It had been a while – no use, really, wondering how long – since Derek had worked out.  Long enough that his muscles started to burn much earlier than usual, enough that the soreness built up faster than his body could heal it.  Still, it felt good, pushing himself like this, further grounding himself in his body.  He quickly lost himself in it like he used to, the rest of the world and his own thoughts fading away.

He was on the floor doing crunches, grunting with effort after too many idle weeks, when he became aware of a second heartbeat in the room, going almost as fast as his own.  He rolled up to his feet to see Stiles standing there in faded pajama bottoms that hung too low on his hips and some superhero t-shirt or other, his eyes wide.

Derek was used to people staring at his body, but for some reason it was gratifying to be able to keep Stiles quiet without saying a word or laying a hand on him.  He let it go on for a second, watching Stiles’ cheeks get pinker and pinker, until Derek finally asked, “Need something?”

“Um, breakfast?” Stiles squeaked.  “Yes, that.  What would you like?  For breakfast.  Which I will make.  In the kitchen.”

For the first time in a long time, Derek bit back on a genuine laugh.  “I’m set.  Make yourself whatever you want.”

He passed Stiles on his way to the stairs and got a whiff of arousal, stronger than it had been in bed earlier that morning.  By the time Derek got out of the shower, it was almost 11:00 – he must’ve been working out for hours.  He toyed with the idea of going back downstairs damp and shirtless, just to see the look on Stiles’ face, but ultimately decided it wasn’t fair to toy with him, especially considering their middle-of-the-night conversation.

Derek wasn’t ready to face those repercussions yet, even if the nightmares had been greatly reduced when he finally got to sleep.  He worried it was a fluke and forced himself not to get his hopes up.  He’d been experiencing some kind of delirium last night – that was the only reason he could think of for telling Stiles things he’d never even said aloud.  He was just now realizing the immensity of all he’d revealed while so exhausted and addled and wrapped tight in warm, surprisingly strong arms.

So Derek was a little wary walking into the kitchen, but the attitude was hard to maintain while watching Stiles stuff his face with pancakes.  He looked up, cheeks bulging and a little startled, at Derek.  “I’m calling this brunch,” he said after he’d swallowed

Derek slid on to the stool across from him.  “So, what did you have planned for today?”

Stiles stared down at his pancakes.  “Did you want to go see Isaac or Boyd?  You don’t have to tell them anything if you don’t want to.”

Derek balked at that, and not just because, despite the shower, they’d be able to smell Stiles all over him.  They’d be able to smell Stiles all over the _apartment_ , come to think of it, but Derek would deal with that if he had to.  No, he still didn’t feel ready to face them, and felt extra raw after last night.  “Not… not yet.”

Stiles just shrugged.  “Okay, what did you want to do?”

“I get to pick?”

“Well, you haven’t taken it upon yourself to remind me in a while, but I am not, in fact, the boss of you.”

“You’d never know it,” Derek muttered, without bitterness and mostly to himself.

“Any ideas?”

Before Derek could think better of it, he said, “We could drive out to the coast.”

Stiles grinned, and Derek had to struggle not to squirm in his seat at the sight of it.  “Sounds good.  I’m driving, though.”

“Not my car, you’re not.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Did I say that?  No.  I know the majestic Camaro is sacrosanct.  Even though you let Scott drive her.”

“That was _one_ time, and it was an emergency.”

“Still: _Scott_.  Scott has troubling operating a Schwinn.”

It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Werewolf senses.”

“Do not translate into knowing how to drive a stick shift.  And you don’t get to use ‘werewolf’ as a justification for everything.”

“Actually, I kind of do.”

“Fine,” Stiles said, squinting.  “Go make me a soufflé using your _werewolf senses_.”  He wiggled his fingers in the air.  “Nice and fluffy.  You’ve got all the ingredients.  Get to it.”

“ _You_ don’t even know how to make a soufflé,” Derek countered.

“As it happens, I do.  But you objected so strongly to Egyptian cotton sheets that I’ve decided to introduce you to the finer things in life slowly.  We should probably work on the huge-ass hole in your living room wall first.”

“As opposed to the huge asshole in my kitchen?”  Stiles gleefully flipped him off.  “Fine, fine, you were right about the sheets,” Derek sighed.

Stiles licked his finger and made an imaginary tally mark in the air.  Derek absolutely did not stare at his mouth.  “Weren’t we going to the coast?”

“Oh, right.  Swimming or no swimming?”

Derek hesitated.  He’d never loved being in the water, even before being paralyzed by the kanima and thrown in a pool.  “You can swim if you want.”

“Eh, maybe,” Stiles said, his mouth full of pancakes again.

&&&

Stiles talked for most of the three-hour drive to the coast.  While not ideal, it was infinitely preferable to Stiles’ music, which did nothing so much as make Derek feel old – _is this what the kids are listening to these days?_   Derek hadn’t paid much attention to music trends over the last few years, but surely the stuff he had listened to as a teenager had been infinitely better in quality, hadn’t it?

At the thought, Derek groaned and let his head thump against the passenger window.

Stiles immediately pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and shook Derek’s shoulder.  “Hey.  You okay over there?”

When Derek looked up, there was genuine concern in Stiles’ eyes.  Well, he guessed he hadn’t really given Stiles any warning, and considering what he’d been going through the past few days…  “Yeah, fine, sorry.  I was just having a… moment?”

Stiles heaved a sigh.  “Well, the next time you decide to have a ‘moment’ with yourself in my car—” he must’ve suddenly realized how that sounded, because he immediately flushed pink “—try not to make it look like you’ve just passed out.  I don’t have anything in my first aid kit for swooning werewolves.”

“Your concern is touching,” Derek groused, even though it was, kind of.

Stiles grunted and pulled back onto the highway, but it didn’t take long before he’d resumed his monologue on the myriad of problems with hiring a British actor to play Superman.

He quieted down once they neared their destination, though, and instead of a beach, they pulled into the parking lot of a state park.  It wasn’t terribly crowded, considering it was summer; all the action must have been at the public beaches.

There were some decent walking trails, and while Stiles seemed intent on verbally cataloguing every form of wildlife listed on the map he’d picked up from god-knows-where, Derek focused on how different the smells were – briny, ocean smells instead of earthy, woodsy scents.   The sounds were different, too, the steady lap of the waves underlying everything else.  The change was a pleasant one; it reminded him to use his senses after having spent far too long cloistered in his apartment.

There was – or at least there had been – an older pack that lived near the coast, though Derek couldn’t say where exactly.  The Hales used to visit them sometimes on vacation.  There were no kids Derek’s age to play with, but he and his siblings used to get into enough trouble all on their own.  His youngest brother once swam out so far that he got caught in a rip tide and Laura had had to swim out and bring him back.  Any of them probably could have done it, but Laura was by far the best swimmer in the family.  She’d wanted to be on the swim team back in high school, but was too competitive and never could hold herself back, so their parents forbade her from joining.  If Derek remembered right, they’d still been fighting about it when the fire happened.

Derek realized he’d stopped walking, and when he glanced beside him, Stiles was gazing at him with wide eyes.  Shit, Derek must have said some – or all – of that aloud.

“I’m sure…” Stiles started, looking like he was unsure if he should continue, but he did.  “I bet she blamed herself sometimes.”

Laura had never said as much, but Derek remembered the early days, when he would walk in on his sister crying.  He’d always wanted to comfort her, but his own guilt ate at him so badly that he usually just ended up sneaking away, retching into the bathroom sink until tears were running down his own face.  And fucking Stiles had to go and bring all that up again.  “It’s not the same,” Derek snapped, striding off down the path without looking back to see if Stiles was following him.

They were practically at the water by the time Stiles caught up with him, panting and sweaty.  “I’m sorry,” he wheezed, hands on his knees as he tried to get air back in his lungs.  “I went too far.”

Derek said nothing, just unzipped Stiles’ backpack and got out his water bottle for him, which of course Stiles drank too fast.

“Don’t choke,” Derek said dryly.  “I can’t exactly speed up your healing process, though I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Augh, no,” Stiles gasped, slowing down on the water.

They’d come out of the treeline onto a rocky shore, and they must have been walking for longer than Derek thought, because the sun was just beginning to set.  He picked his way over to a flat, sun-warmed rock and sat, not saying anything but leaving room for Stiles.

Stiles practically collapsed beside him, digging around in the backpack.  “I have some snacks in here if you’re hungry.  We can get real dinner on the way home.”

“I could eat,” Derek said, and was promptly handed a tiny Quaker granola bar, s’mores flavor.  “What the hell is this?”

Stiles looked at him flatly.  “It’s a granola bar.”

“It has chocolate and marshmallow bits in it.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said, biting into his own with a flourish.  “That’s what makes it taste good.”

“That’s what makes it _dessert_.”

Stiles shrugged.  “The healthy ones taste like cardboard.  We’ve been walking all day _and_ you have that werewolf metabolism, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to use ‘werewolf’ as an excuse.”

Stiles jabbed Derek sharply in the ribs with his elbow.  Thus began an elbow war that Derek could’ve easily won, but he let Stiles get in a few more pokes – and finish swallowing his granola bar – before knocking him clean off the rock.

“Un-fucking-fair,” Stiles grumbled, picking himself up and dusting off the sand before realizing that Derek had spread himself out completely across the rock.  “If you think I won’t sit on you, you have been severely misinformed.  Even Scott’s werewolf spleen is no match for my bony ass.”

Derek decided to be charitable and move over to give him some sitting room.  He didn’t quite scoot over as much as he could have, though, and Stiles had to sit pressed against him to get both butt cheeks on the rock.

Together they watched the sky flare into shades of pink and orange.  Miraculously, Stiles was silent, and while his head wasn’t exactly resting on Derek’s shoulder, he was definitely leaning into him more than he needed to.  Derek knew that they’d need to go soon – the walk back would be quicker without Stiles pretending to be a BBC documentarian, but the path wasn’t lit.

Slowly, Derek became aware that Stiles was no longer leaning against him and watching the sunset, but was watching him instead.  Derek turned, intending to point out to Stiles that werewolves didn’t have the patent on creepy staring, but Stiles’ face was so earnest – and so close to Derek’s.  It would’ve felt more unnatural to back away than to close the few inches between them and kiss Stiles.

It was a soft, chaste kiss, an unhurried one, and Stiles was only frozen with surprise for a split second before he reciprocated.  Derek felt warmth suffuse his belly as Stiles’ nose bumped gently against his own.  After what seemed like a long time and no time at all, Stiles sighed and rubbed his lips lightly against Derek’s before moving away.

All the warmth drained away when Derek saw the shock on Stiles’ face, but before Derek could say anything, Stiles pressed his fingers to Derek’s lips.  “Don’t apologize,” he said softly.  “It’s okay if you’re sorry, but I’d rather not hear it.”

Derek was at such a loss for words that Stiles had zipped up his backpack and was heading back up the beach before Derek could say anything – even if he had known the right thing to say.

&&&

The drive back was nearly silent, but only mildly uncomfortable.  They got drive-through cheeseburgers and ate them in the car, Stiles only giving Derek a half-hearted threat not to get ketchup on the upholstery.  The radio was set on some classical station, and Derek was very nearly lulled to sleep by the quiet rumble of the car, but sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do.

Trying desperately to keep his mind off the kiss, he kept thinking about how Stiles had brought up the idea of Laura blaming herself, how _angry_ it had made Derek… and how quickly the anger faded away.  It should have had him stalking back to the car, leaving Stiles far behind on the trail, but instead he’d continued on to the beach, and by the time Stiles had caught up – a matter of minutes – Derek’s first impulse was to get Stiles his water, not strangle him.

It was a little frightening that even now Derek couldn’t even muster up that momentary burst of anger he’d felt.  There was so much he had to be angry about, and at the top of the list was Stiles barging into his life and staging a one-man intervention that Derek still wasn’t completely sure he was on board with.  He used to be able to summon anger as easily as he could shift, but now when he tried, all he felt was a kind of vague despair.  Had the drug taken his anchor away from him, too?

They got back sooner than Derek would’ve thought.  Stiles groaned as they walked the stairs up to the loft, muttering to himself about being so out of shape that practice, which had stopped until school began in the fall, was probably going to kill him when lacrosse season came around again.

“Do you mind if I crash on your couch for a few?  I swear I’m gonna go shower and I don’t have any sand on me anyway, but I just need a couple minutes to not be driving or going up stairs.”

“Driving?” Derek asked incredulously.

“Hush.  It’s taxing,” Stiles replied as he flopped onto the couch, arms spread over the back and legs splayed out in front of him.  He closed his eyes and groaned as he let his head rest back against the cushions.  Baring his throat.

Derek turned on his heels and went to the kitchen, not really hungry but unable to stand there and watch Stiles like that, spread out and vulnerable, his pale skin still pink from the sun.  Derek downed an entire glass of water and started back out toward the living room – they were going to have to talk about what to do tonight, the sleeping arrangements.  But then Derek realized the subject of the kiss would probably come up, and spun back around to go back to the kitchen and… alphabetize the canned vegetables or something.  No, that was stupid, better to get it over with now.  Derek got a step further than he had before, but ended up turning back.

“Dude, I can hear you pacing,” Stiles said, not moving a muscle.  “Don’t even need werewolf ears.  You’re about as stealthy as an indecisive rhinoceros.”

Derek ran his hands through his hair and steeled himself as he walked back around the couch to sit on the small space that Stiles wasn’t currently occupying.  Stiles turned his head toward Derek and opened his eyes, and the sight of it struck Derek right in the sternum.  Stiles’ eyelids drooped a little, his long eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheekbones, and his drowsy, slightly-unfocused eyes were a warm, inviting amber.  Derek swallowed hard and tried to remember what they were supposed to talk about.

“I understand if you want to pretend it didn’t happen,” Stiles said lightly, not even sounding annoyed or resigned.

Derek didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it, either.  It was just that the timing could hardly be more wrong.  Stiles was so young and Derek was supposed to be more of an adult than this.  And he didn’t want Stiles to think it was mere gratitude for the last few days, because it was… well, it was something Derek couldn’t name.  Something that had just felt so right in the moment – _still_ felt right to remember it – but that moment shouldn’t have happened yet.  Derek couldn’t even begin to think how to word all that without it sounding like an apology.

Stiles smiled sleepily.  “Yeah, here’s where your ‘not talking about it’ thing comes in handy.  Just wanted you to know that it was…  It’ll just be a really good memory to have.”  He laughed softly.  “On the beach at sunset with an incredibly gorgeous guy.  Couldn’t have scripted a better first kiss if I’d tried.”

“That was your first kiss?” Derek asked before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice still maddeningly calm but his heart rate increasing slightly.  Not the sudden skip of a lie, but the rush of embarrassment.  “Thanks for the genuine surprise, by the way.  Don’t get that a lot.”

“I’m not sorry,” Derek said suddenly, but then didn’t know how to follow it up.  _But you’re seventeen.  But I don’t know if I’d be ready for this anyway.  But I’ll only end up taking you down with me._

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip.  “That’s… something, I guess.”

He didn’t push any further, which seemed like a minor miracle.  Still, there were things they did need to talk about.  “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“What do you want to do?”

Derek closed his eyes and sighed.  He was fairly certain that it had been Stiles’ presence in his bed that had kept the nightmares to a minimum.  But that was a bad idea not just for the obvious reasons, but also because Stiles would be gone in a few days.  Derek couldn’t reasonably expect a high schooler to fall asleep next to him every night, to be there if he did wake up in fear.

The thought of that fear made the anxiety he’d been holding off flood back into him, and he remembered the drug – he’d forgotten it today, actually _forgotten_ about it while they’d been out.  He was finally able to admit to himself that he had a problem; that was supposed to be the first step, but Derek never could do things the right way.  The desire for the quick fix hit him like a brick wall and he could feel his hands wanting to tremble again.  Okay, so this was the psychological part.  Fuck.

He was snapped out of his daze by Stiles squeezing his knee.  Suddenly he was up and alert, right next to Derek on the couch, smelling of bug spray and sunscreen that could never entirely cover his natural scent.  “Hey, big guy.  What’s going on up there?  Because as obviously gifted as I am, I still can’t read minds.”

“I can’t keep you.”  Oh god, did that _actually_ come out of Derek’s mouth?

Stiles blinked rapidly, but Derek could hear his heartbeat shoot up.  “Um, true.  But how’s about we back up about four or five mental steps there, for my sake.”

Derek groaned and put his head in his hands.  “What I meant was, I think I might be past the physical part of the addiction.  But the thought of the nightmares makes me crave it again, and I’m pretty sure the only reason I’ve been getting through the night is because you’re here.  And you can’t stay forever.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, but looking much less startled.  “But don’t look too far ahead and freak out.  I’m here now.  We’ll figure out what do when the time comes, okay?  But what do you need from me right now, tonight?”

Derek didn’t know whether to laugh or put his fist through a wall, because the simple answer to that question was _hold me_.  It took him a while to calm down enough to say, “The same as last night, I think,” hoping Stiles wouldn’t make him elaborate.

“Your room or mine?” Stiles asked.

Derek still didn’t want to face his bed, to smell nothing but his own sweat (and cum) on the sheets.  “Yours.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly but genuinely.  “I’m gonna go take that shower now, because even _I_ think I reek.  You go do your— Hey, do you have, like, a manly beauty regimen you do every night?  Because let’s be honest, I could use some tips.”

Derek snorted, as much because Stiles didn’t need a damn thing as because it was a ridiculous question.  “Ask me again when you have facial hair.”

“Hey,” Stiles retorted, poking Derek in the chest.  “I can totally grow facial hair when I want to.  And all three of them are really impressive.”

Derek meant to grab Stiles’ wrist, but what he ended up doing was more like holding it, his thumb against Stiles’ pulse.  “Get in the shower.”

Stiles blew a raspberry and jerked his hand away, and Derek had a moment of disappointment before he realized he was going to have to deal with another night in bed with Stiles.  Paradoxically, he was dreading how much he was looking forward to it.  He could control his body’s reactions – he wasn’t so worried about that – but sleeping with the comfort Stiles’ warm, lean body pressed against his, Stiles’ scent soaking his sheets…  Derek feared he was trading one psychological addiction for another.

Derek was already in bed, pretending to read, when Stiles came back from the shower, smelling like – Jesus – smelling like Derek’s soap, his shampoo.  He was wearing the same t-shirt and pajama pants from the night before, but Derek hadn’t really been looking closely then.  Now he had no choice, and everything about Stiles – his soft, worn clothes, his clean skin, his open expression – just seemed so _inviting_.

When Stiles got into bed, Derek gave up on the book and went to switch the lamp off.

“You can keep reading for a bit if you want,” Stiles said, vigorously squashing the pillow until it was shaped to his liking.  “The light won’t bother me.”

“No, it’s fine, I was at the end of a chapter anyway.”  It wasn’t technically a lie, since Derek hadn’t really even begun the new chapter.

“You want to be the big spoon tonight?” Stiles asked with a goofy grin, like it was nothing, like it was a conversation they had every night.  Before going to bed.  In the same bed.

“I might smother you in your sleep.”

“You’re not going to accidentally smother me in my sleep.”

“Who said anything about an accident?”

“You’re funny,” said Stiles, settling down with his back facing Derek.  “Like a clown.  Or a trained seal.  Or a cat falling off a— _oomph_.”

Derek let his arm land heavily over Stiles’ side as he scooted close to, but not quite touching, Stiles’ back.  “Happy?”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed sleepily.  “You’re like a furnace.”

“You didn’t notice that last night?”

“Last night you weren’t wrapped around me like a blanket.  Speaking of which, just kick the covers down and I’ll be fine.”

Derek did and settled back down.  “This okay?”

“You can get closer, big guy.  The Stiles is for cuddling.”

Derek sighed and pressed himself up against Stiles’ back.  It practically shoved his nose against Stiles’ neck, which put a heavy strain on Derek’s control.  But for once, Stiles was perfectly still.  He wasn’t treating this like something sexual – which it _wasn’t_ , Derek reminded himself – and that made things a little easier.

Still, it took Derek a while to really relax.  The way Stiles was breathing, Derek thought he was asleep, and he felt a pang of jealousy for the ease with which Stiles could just drop off.

But then Stiles took a particularly deep breath and Derek heard Stiles whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Derek whispered.  His breath stirred the short hairs at the back of Stiles neck and Derek could feel him suppressing a shiver.

But Stiles’ voice came out low and even.  “For opening up to me last night.  I know that was big for you.  We never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to, but if you ever do…”

Stiles trailed off and Derek waited, but apparently that was all Stiles had to say.  After a few more minutes, Derek could hear (and feel) Stiles’ heartbeat slow as he fell asleep for real.

Derek lay awake for a long time, though.  He remembered what Stiles had said the night before, though it felt like days ago: _think purposefully about good things, concentrate on how they make you feel_.  He was willing to try, even if he wasn’t ready to admit to Stiles that he had tried.

So he thought about his family visits to the beach – not the one where his brother almost drowned, but other years.  How good it felt to meticulously create a sand castle, complete with outer walls and turrets and a moat, and then how satisfying it was to pounce on it and destroy the whole thing.  Derek the tried to push out the thought of all the other things he’d destroyed and thought of one of the rare moments when he’d walked into the train depot and found Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all sitting around, talking laughing together.  Moments where Derek felt like he had a real pack.  He thought of all those weeks when he’d known Stiles was sitting just outside his door, and even though that wasn’t exactly a happy time in his life, Stiles’ presence had been just about the only constant, the only person he could count on to be there, whether Stiles talked or not.

It took more than three hours, but eventually Derek did manage to fall asleep.

He didn’t dream at all.

&&&

Derek woke alone in bed, the sheets cool enough for him to know that Stiles had been up for some time.  He looked at the clock – it was nearly noon.  He hadn’t slept that long in… Well, he definitely hadn’t slept that long since moving back to Beacon Hills.  Not while unmedicated, at least.

When he walked out into the living room, he was greeted with the sight of Stiles flopped face down on the couch, appearing to read a book he was holding open on the floor.  “How can you possibly read like that?”

Stiles looked up at him and grinned, and Derek had a fleeting thought that this was something he could stand to wake up to every morning.  “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Stiles said, closing the book around his finger and sitting up properly.  “Also, good morning, yes, I slept fine, thank you for asking.  You?”

Derek was almost afraid to say it out loud, like that would somehow jinx it.  “No nightmares.”

Stiles dropped the book altogether and popped up off the couch, taking a step toward Derek like he was going to hug him.  He seemed to balk, though, and instead just said, “Derek, that’s awesome!  How do you want to celebrate?”

Derek could think of any number of ways to celebrate, particularly with Stiles, but he held them back.  He’d had plenty of time to think last night, and he’d realized there was something he needed to do.  “I want to go visit Erica’s grave.”

The stunned look on Stiles’ face would’ve been hilarious at any other time.  “That… uh… That is not what I was expecting to hear,” Stiles said, far more diplomatically than his usually reaction to surprises.

“I know.  But I know you’ve been going, and I just… I feel like I owe it to her.”

This time Stiles did step forward and put his hand on Derek’s arm.  “It’s totally up to you.”

“You think it’s a bad idea?”

Stiles shook his head quickly.  “Not in itself.  But if you’re just going so you can beat up on yourself some more…”

“That’s not why.  There are just some things I need to say.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling faintly as he squeezed Derek’s arm.  “After lunch, though.  Because I’m starving and you need your meat or protein bars, or whatever.”

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Stiles, you saw me eat falafel two days ago.”

“Still protein, even if it’s deep-fried.”

Just to spite him, Derek made himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

&&&

They took the Camaro this time, Derek driving (obviously).  The silence was entirely comfortable this time, and Derek rolled down the windows as soon as they got to the preserve.  He hadn’t been here in weeks, and the scent of these woods was both soothing and heartbreaking.

Derek parked in front of the house, which seemed stubbornly intent on staying upright long after it probably should have crumbled to dust and ash.  Well, parts of it, anyway.  When they got to Erica’s grave, fresh flowers – probably from Boyd – laid near the simple cairn acting as a headstone, Stiles nudged Derek gently with his shoulder and murmured, “I’m gonna go for a walk.  Take your time.”

After the crunching footfalls let Derek know that Stiles had gone beyond the treeline, he knelt near the headstone.  This was something he hadn’t done before – not with the rest of his family, not with Laura, and certainly not with Peter.  He knew Stiles visited his mom regularly, but Derek had never seen the point in it before, talking to the dead.  He’d never considered the fact that it might actually be for the benefit of the living.

“Erica,” he started, then hesitated, not knowing where to begin.  “I don’t… I’m working on not thinking of this as my fault.  Stiles says you wouldn’t blame me, but I am responsible.  Or I was supposed to be responsible when I brought you into my pack.”

He took a deep breath, not knowing how to word what he needed to say next.  “I know I didn’t tell you everything.  I know I… I took advantage of you while you were in no position to resist.  But I chose you because you were already strong, already a fighter, and I thought you deserved better.  I wanted to give you a body that wouldn’t fail you.  I didn’t even think about the ways _I_ could fail you.”

Derek’s eyes burned with tears.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  You weren’t wrong to want to leave.  You deserved a better alpha.  And I’m going to try to do the best I can for Boyd and Isaac.  And Scott, if he’ll let me.  And Stiles.”  Derek dropped his voice, even though he knew Stiles wasn’t listening.  “You were right about Stiles.  He’s…”  He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find the words.  But if by some miracle Erica could actually hear him, she’d understand.  “I’ll try to do right by him.  Once I figure out what that is.”

He’d said all he needed to say, but he stayed kneeling by her grave for a long time, until he heard Stiles approaching the house.  Derek rubbed at his eyes before he stood and turned around, but it wasn’t as though he could entirely hide how he felt.

Before he could even make it all the way back to the car, Stiles had Derek enveloped in a tight hug.  Derek felt awkward putting his arms around Stiles’ waist, but Stiles didn’t seem to notice.  “I asked her, once, soon before she and Boyd left,” Stiles said softly.  “If she regretted it.  Taking the bite.  She said she didn’t.”

“That’s what she said?” Derek asked, trying to resist the urge to bury his face against Stiles’ neck.

“Well, that and ‘You should think about it, Stilinski.  It would do you some good.’  And then she slapped my ass on the way out.”

Derek snorted, his body shaking with silent laughter, and soon Stiles was joining him, and he imagined Erica smirking and rolling her eyes at both of them.

The laughter slowly died down, and Derek could hear Stiles swallow loudly.  “Did, um… did you want to say anything to Peter?”

Derek though of the mound of dirt out back, marked with another cairn but not with any flowers.  “No,” Derek said quietly.  “I’ve already grieved for the man he used to be.  Not the thing that’s lying in that grave.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, sounding a little relieved, but he didn’t let go of Derek for a long time.

&&&

The rest of the day passed quickly, though they didn’t do much.  After leaving the old house, they went out for ice cream, which didn’t feel as disrespectful as Derek thought it might when Stiles first suggested it.  Stiles told Derek about everyone in chemistry class fighting to be Erica’s lab partner – apparently, two girls got into an actual, hair-pulling fight – and Derek told Stiles about Erica’s strange insistence that Derek get a cat.

“What would I even _do_ with a cat?” Derek asked as Stiles tried to laugh and swallow a huge spoonful of rocky road at the same time.

“You could have contests to see who could look more disaffected.  Y’know, a disdain-off.   I have to tell you, though, a cat might actually give you a run for your money.”

“I hate cats.”

Stiles grinned.  “Yeah, but I bet they love you.”

“In human form, yes,” Derek sighed.  “Our neighbor in New York used to have a cat.  It never left me alone.  And here I’d almost forgotten what that was like.”  He glared across the table at Stiles, but by now all that did was crack Stiles up.

“Be prepared to wake up tomorrow with me asleep across your face.”

Derek could think of all kinds of inappropriate ways to respond that would make Stiles blush until he burst a blood vessel, but then it reminded Derek of something.  “You have to go back home tomorrow, don’t you?”

Stiles immediately sobered up, though there was still a streak of chocolate on his chin.  “Yeah.  My dad gets home tomorrow afternoon.  I could go see him and try to push for staying at Scott’s for a few more nights—”

“No.  You’ve done enough lying for me.”

Stiles’ face went grim.  “I don’t like it either, but if you need me…”

Derek regretted bringing it up – they would have to have this conversation, but it didn’t need to be here or now.  “Later.  Right now, you look like you lost a food fight with yourself.”  Then Derek licked his thumb and acted like he was going to clean Stiles’ chin with it.

“AAAUUUGH, NOOOO!” Stiles shouted, warding him off with flailing arms until everybody in the place was staring at them.  Stiles blindly grabbed for a wad of napkins and buried his face in them, while Derek just buried his face in his hands and wondered how the hell his life had gotten to this point.

&&&

“You sure?” Stiles asked.

Derek had dreaded the question, because no, of course he wasn’t sure.  God knew what was going to happen after Stiles left, or after the next blow landed.  Because there was always going to be a next one, and one after that.  But Derek had tried this way of coping and he knew what it had done to him, so he said a firm “Yes,” never so glad that Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

Stiles seemed to know anyway and narrowed his eyes a little.

“Fine,” Derek sighed.  “I’m not sure.  But we know I don’t need it physically and… and I’m through with it.  Whatever happens now, I deal with in other ways.”

The small bag of powder was in Stiles’ hand, but he let Derek lift the toilet lid.  After a long, awkward moment, Stiles broke the silence with a rude snort.  “We totally should’ve done this at the beach yesterday.  Way more dignified, not to mention dramatic.  The sun setting in the background and everything.”

“I don’t think I was ready then,” Derek said, which was safer than admitting _but then I might not have gotten to kiss you_.

“Fair enough,” Stiles said softly, and handed Derek the bag.  “Do the honors?”

Derek’s hand trembled as he took it, and Stiles clasped Derek’s other hand tightly, twining their fingers together.  Derek was so shaken at holding the drug again that he barely noticed the casual intimacy of the gesture.

He didn’t know how long he simply stood there and stared at it, but Stiles didn’t rush him.  Finally, Derek dumped the contents in the toilet, followed by the bag, and flushed before he could think too hard about it.  Stiles immediately gathered him up in a tight hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.  “You are such a badass, you know that?  You beat this thing faster than I ever thought possible.  And you never actually beat _me_ up in the process, which, thanks for that, by the way.”

Derek buried a pained laugh against Stiles’ shoulder, because he had come perilously close, twice.  But he hadn’t really hurt Stiles.  He’d controlled himself, backed away from his anger instead of centering on it, and that still left him feeling anchorless, but he’d obviously latched on to something.  He was just frightened to acknowledge what that something was.

But it was hard to deny when he was breathing in Stiles’ scent, so pure and undiluted this close up.  He meant to lift his head from Stiles’ shoulder, but his nose only dragged up Stiles’ throat until Derek’s mouth was positioned right at the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw, and it was as necessary as breathing to taste the salt of Stiles’ skin.

Stiles made a soft, surprised noise and turned his face just enough that their lips dragged against each other and Derek’s mind went blissfully quiet, aware only of the moment, nothing before or after.  Stiles was tilting his head, _yielding_ to Derek in a way that made his hands tremble because Stiles never yielded, not in anything.

Derek raised a hand to cradle the back of Stiles’ head and the kiss slowly slid into decidedly less-chaste territory.  Derek couldn’t remember when their mouths had opened, but Stiles’ tongue was pressing curiously against Derek’s, maybe testing what he could get away with, and it was all Derek could do to be patient and let Stiles explore.  There was an unmistakable innocence to the way Stiles pressed in tentatively, but he was quickly gaining confidence.

So Derek was stunned when Stiles once again pulled away first.  Derek should have been grateful; he’d been able to control himself so far, but once he let himself start, he was afraid he wouldn’t know where the breaking point was until he’d passed it.  Still, his heart dropped when Stiles pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the corner of Derek’s lips and stepped back.

But his hands still rested on Derek’s chest, like he couldn’t quite bear to let go just yet.  “Derek,” he said, his eyes sliding shut when his voice cracked.  “We can’t.”

Derek stared at the floor, too ashamed of himself to look at anything but Stiles’ feet.  “I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t—” He heard Stiles take a deep breath.  “I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

That made Derek’s head snap up.  “You think _you’re_ taking advantage of—”

Stiles’ eyes were warm, but pinched with regret.  “You’re doing so well, but you can’t tell me you’re 100% yet.  And whatever you’re feeling, it’s so mixed in with what you’ve been going through over the past few months—”

“You think I’m _confused_ about this?  About what I want?”

Stiles’ eyes darted away.  “Actually, until a minute ago, I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.”

“I wasn’t the one who said that.”

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it, at least.”

“I don’t want to _talk_ about it,” Derek blurted out.

“Okay,” Stiles said, his voice steady but his breathing erratic, and Derek had no idea how to interpret that.  “But I think you need some time to sort out your feelings.  I know I definitely do.  And I know this is something you don’t take lightly, so I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”  He slid his hands up to squeeze Derek’s shoulders.  “Or question each other’s motives.”  He smiled, a little sadly.  “I guess it’s not a matter of wanting.”

Derek nodded, wondering how the hell Stiles could be this mature about it when Derek was barely managing it himself.  Well, he supposed Stiles would imply that Derek and maturity were only passing acquaintances, and that would be a hard point to argue.  Still, he had Stiles all to himself for one more night…  “Do you, uh.  Could you still stay with me tonight?  I can control myself.”  Derek wondered if he should admit more, but it came out before he could stop it.  “I’ve _been_ controlling myself.”

Half a dozen emotions flickered across Stiles’ face so quickly that Derek couldn’t catch any of them until Stiles finally landed on a small smile.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’d like that.”  Just as suddenly, he frowned and looked down at his shoes.  “Hey, I haven’t been, like, doing anything… _weird_ in my sleep, have I?”

Derek thought back to that first morning they’d woken up together, Stiles out cold but the heat of his erection pressed lightly against Derek’s back.  “Nope,” Derek said innocently.

Apparently he couldn’t pull off “innocent” so well, because Stiles groaned and covered his face with his hands.  “I’m assuming it wasn’t too traumatic for you, whatever it was.  So just… never, ever tell me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Derek slept so well with Stiles tangled against him that the morning light filtering in through the blinds made his heart sink.  Stiles was still asleep, breathing wetly against Derek’s shoulder, and Derek stayed still as long as he could, trying to delay the moment when Stiles would wake.  But eventually Stiles’ eyes blinked open and he rolled over to stretch, and Derek averted his eyes for his own mental well-being.

They ate breakfast in silence, since Stiles seemed just as disheartened about leaving as Derek felt and for once didn’t seem to have the words to fill the emptiness.  Derek did manage to get a smile out of him, though, by deftly peeling the last orange and handing half of it to Stiles.

He offered to leave the Wii, but Derek declined; he thought playing it alone would be a bit sad, even for him.  Stiles did leave a few movies, though, because “no, really, dude, you have to watch this” – enough, Derek suspected, to get him through a few sleepless nights if he needed them.

Saying goodbye was strange, since Stiles lived less than fifteen minutes away and Derek knew Stiles would be checking up on him.  Still, Stiles had essentially been living with him for almost a week – was that all it was? – and had spent the past three nights in Derek’s bed, but that was over, probably for good.

“Call me,” Stiles said earnestly.  “Call me all the time, not just when you can’t sleep or you’re having nightmares.  I mean, of course call me then, no matter what time it is.  But please, for my own peace of mind, call me or text me or send smoke signals, because otherwise I’ll be over here picking your lock again.”

“I’ll get a deadbolt,” Derek said, trying hard not to smirk.

“Yeah, like that’ll stop me,” Stiles laughed.  “And just… please think about what I said about Isaac and Boyd?  I’m not going to say a word to anyone, and you don’t have to tell them everything, but don’t shut them out.”

“I’ll think about it,” Derek sighed, though in truth he knew it was the right thing to do.  He just had to work up the courage to do it and, no matter what Stiles said, to be prepared if they wanted nothing to do with him.

Stiles set down his bags and slipped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him in tight.  “It’s gonna be tough,” Stiles murmured.  “But don’t try to do it alone again.  That’s all I ask from you.”

Derek couldn’t find his voice, just nodded with his face pushed into the crook of Stiles’ neck and tried not to think what it would be like without that scent to calm him, ground him.  _Anchor_ him.  Fuck.

Once Stiles was gone, the sound of his Jeep receding as he drove away, Derek did pushups until his arms started to shake.  He rolled over on his back on the floor.  All he really had to do was wait a few minutes and he’d heal enough to keep going, but he was too restless even for that.  He’d intended to wait a few days before trying to contact Isaac and Boyd, but suddenly his loft seemed so empty.  Why had he moved into such a ridiculously large space?  It startled him to realize that, for the first time in recent memory, he didn’t want to be alone.

He was surprised that both Isaac and Boyd answered their phones, knowing it was Derek who was calling, and even more surprised that they agreed to come over that evening in the absence of anything trying to kill them or the rest of the town.  Derek was half-expecting to have to lure them over with the threat of some mythological creature; it turned out all he needed was the promise of pizza.

Isaac arrived first, and there was an awkward moment where Isaac made an aborted move to hug Derek – he’d obviously been spending too much time with Scott – but instead pulled back and said, “You’re looking good.  You had us all worried there for a little while.”

Derek had never practiced the traditional scent-marking or encouraged casual touch among his pack, so he could hardly start now without suspicion.  Or having to offer up an explanation, which he didn’t think he’d be up for any time soon.  But he rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezed.  Isaac went very still for a moment, but he didn’t flinch away.  His eyes went wide as he looked at Derek’s hand, but when he looked back at Derek, he gave a serious nod, like he understood.

Derek wasn’t sure what to do about Boyd, who had always seemed even less comfortable with physical contact than Derek.  But Boyd was the one who initiated it, putting his hand out and grasping Derek’s forearm, which forced Derek to do the same.  It was more than a handshake but less than a hug, and Derek even got an almost-smile out of him.  He’d been the one to tip Stiles off in the first place, and it suddenly reminded Derek that the entire apartment must reek of Stiles.

If Isaac and Boyd noticed, though, they didn’t say anything.  Nor did they ask why Derek had been completely absent for weeks, and Derek felt the weight of guilt descend on him.  No pack member, not even an alpha – _especially_ not an alpha – should separate himself from the pack with no warning or explanation.  Still, if they weren’t going to ask, Derek wasn’t eager to tell them the specifics.  All he could try to do was move forward.

Isaac and Boyd chatted with each other stiltedly while they ate, and Derek waited until after the pizza was gone to address them.  When he cleared his throat, they both looked at him expectantly, and Derek had to resist the urge to simply flee the room.  Instead, he took a deep breath.  “I owe you both an apology.  I didn’t forget that I grew up as a werewolf and you didn’t, but I took advantage of it.  When a packmate dies, the pack should mourn together.  But I wanted to be alone, so I essentially abandoned you, and no alpha should do that.”

Both betas stared at Derek, Isaac more openly than Boyd.  “I didn’t…” Isaac started hoarsely.  “I wasn’t even sure if we were still a pack.”

It hurt Derek to hear that, but it was no worse than he deserved.  “We are.  And we still can be… if you want to.  Going off on your own is dangerous, but I’m not sure what’s going on with Scott.  He’s not exactly an alpha, but the three of you might be able to form a pack, plus…”  He didn’t want to say Stiles’ name.  “…whatever humans want to join you.”

“What would happen to you?” Boyd asked.

“I wouldn’t create more betas, if that’s what you’re asking,” Derek replied.  He’d sure as hell learned his lesson on that one.  But it was time to say what he really needed to say, what he hadn’t been able to say when Boyd and Erica were leaving and Isaac had already been drawing away from him.  “You’re free to do as you want, but I’d prefer if you stayed.  I gave you the bite, so your safety and well-being are my responsibility.  And I need pack just like you do, I’ve just been trying to deny it.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes.  “You’ll become an omega if we leave.”

Derek’s insides clenched at the word.  To be completely on his own, with no pack…  “It’s possible.  I don’t know for sure.  But my obligation is to you, not the other way around.  I want to… to start over.”  He tried not to look at Boyd.  “It won’t bring back the people we lost, but there are still things I can teach you.  And not just about fighting, but about being a pack.  There’s still something to be gained in staying together.”

When Derek did look at Boyd, he was surprised to see one side of Boyd’s mouth quirked up.  “Just say it, man.  You want us back.”

Isaac picked up on Boyd’s mood shift.  “Better yet, sing it.  Wasn’t there a Jackson 5 song?”

Recent personal growth aside, Derek couldn’t help rolling his eyes.  “I’m _not_ going to sing it.  But yes, I want you back.  Both of you.  Even Scott, if he’d consider it, though I don’t expect him to.”

To Derek’s surprise, Isaac nodded.  “I can talk to him about it.  I don’t know what he’ll say, but I can at least bring it up.”

“I want us to be prepared,” Derek said, “in case something or someone else comes after us.  Defeating the alpha pack bought us some time, but there may be other challenges, over territory or just over pride.”

“Or other mythological creatures,” Boyd interjected.

Derek groaned.  “That, too.”

“It’s a good thing Stiles has been working on the bestiary,” Isaac said with just the tiniest of smirks, and it confirmed for Derek that they knew something had gone on with Stiles.  They didn’t seem to want to ask about it, though, and Derek wasn’t going to volunteer any information.  But he genuinely hadn’t known Stiles had kept up with the bestiary.

“We’ll make a list of all the resources we have.”

The three of them talked a little longer about where to start, but their renewed alliance was still too tense and fragile to discuss much more than that.  The best Derek could do was say, “I wasn’t there for you, after the alpha pack.  You deserved better from me, and that’s what I’m going to try to be.  Better.”

Both Isaac and Boyd nodded tentatively, and Derek showed them out with the promise of another meeting soon.  Not only did they need to plan for possible threats, but they needed to solidify their bonds with each other again.  They hardly felt like Derek’s betas anymore, but he sensed their willingness to return, their need to be part of a pack, and he felt something he hadn’t felt for a long time, something dangerous: hope.

The fear of it kept him wide awake long past midnight.  Was he doing the right thing, bringing these kids back into his life?  Or should he have just let them go?  Isaac had Scott, and Boyd was resourceful enough to find a new pack if he didn’t want to join them.  Derek had promised to try to be better, but what if he couldn’t?  What if he kept destroying everything he touched?

He made it to precisely 2:47 a.m. before calling Stiles, getting out of bed to wander downstairs for a change of scenery.

Stiles’ voice was raspy with sleep, but he sounded completely unsurprised.  “Nightmares?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah, can’t sleep.”

“No.”

“Isaac and Boyd still on your mind?”

Derek managed to stop himself before asking how Stiles knew, because of course Stiles knew – hell, he was probably there when Isaac told Scott.  “I’m still not sure I did the right thing.”

“Derek, they need you as much as you need them.  If they’re not throwing themselves down at your feet and groveling, well… imagine what you’d do in their position.”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t trust me.”

“That’ll change with time.  But they’re willing to give it a shot.  As long as you, and I quote, ‘keep your fat alpha head out of your ass this time.’”

“Isaac?”

“Boyd.  I know, it surprised me, too.  It’s probably the longest single sentence he’s ever said to me.”

Derek sighed.  “I still don’t even know if I’m back to normal, and normal was obviously not cutting it the first time around.”

“Give yourself a break, man.  You gave them a choice, and they chose you.  They might not be the only ones, either.”

At first, Derek thought Stiles was talking about himself, but then he thought better of it.  “Scott?”

“He’s still being stubborn for the moment, but I think he was impressed with what you said to Isaac and Boyd.  He tried to hide it, but the Scott-face doesn’t do ‘hiding’ so well.”

Derek snorted, digging some baby carrots out of the fridge.  He wasn’t really hungry, but they didn’t really taste like much, so it sort of evened out.

Stiles listened to him crunch for a little while before saying, “I think he’ll come around.  He’s never wanted to cut you out of his life.  Not entirely.”

“Not even when you were encouraging him to?” Derek asked dryly, snapping satisfactorily into a carrot.

“Hey, that was, like, _half a year_ ago.  I’ve grown tremendously as a person since then.  Also, you stopped wanting to brutally murder me at some point.  That helped.”

“I never wanted to murder you.”  Derek paused.  “Well, not brutally.”

“Oh, good, so you’d have made it quick.  Past-me appreciates the consideration, he really does.”

“You turned out to be useful.  I’m glad I kept you around.”

Stiles gasped.  “That… that may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Derek winced; Stiles’ tone was sarcastic, but there was some underlying truth there.  If “useful” had been the nicest thing Derek had ever called Stiles, then Stiles was some kind of saint for sticking around as long as he had, refusing to let Derek push him away.  That or the world’s most stubborn, meddling asshole.  Probably a bit of both, actually.

Derek must have been silent for a long time, because eventually Stiles said, “What can I do to help you get to sleep?”

_Come over here and put your arms around me_.  “I don’t know.  Talk to me.  That usually makes me zone out.”

“Ha fuckin’ ha.  I’m not fooled by your ‘I barely tolerate Stiles because he is oh-so-pretty’ act anymore.  Put the carrots away and get back in bed, dickweed.”

“You should start a therapy program,” Derek said, shoving the carrots back into the fridge.  “It’s your compassion that really sells it.”

“What am I going to do with all these compliments, Derek?  I’m going to end up with a serious ego disorder.”

Derek climbed under the sheets and pulled the blanket back up.  “Okay, I’m in bed.”  The fact that it was the guest room bed, still saturated with Stiles’ scent, was something Stiles didn’t need to know.

“Good,” Stiles said, followed by a monstrous yawn.  “Just relax.  Isaac and Boyd are fine.  They’re safe.  We all are.”

“Won’t always be,” Derek muttered, just to be obstinate, but he put the phone on speaker and laid it on the pillow so he could get comfortable.

“Doesn’t matter.  All that matters is that right now, we’re safe.  You’re safe.  You’re in a safe place.  No horrible beasties or bad thoughts.  Not here.  It’s just you, and I know you’re tired.  You’ve had a long day.  Can you feel it tugging at you, just behind your eyes?  Your mind wants to rest.  Let it.”

Derek grunted, which drew a soft laugh out of the tinny speaker beside him.  Stiles kept talking, his voice getting heavier and heavier with sleep, until at some point it was gone entirely.  Derek didn’t know how long it took him to finally drift off, but the phone was still next to his head when he woke up in the morning.

&&&

The nightmares came back.  Not as bad as they had been in the weeks after the alpha pack, but Derek still awoke in a cold sweat once or twice a night.  Sometimes he called Stiles; sometimes he didn’t.  Derek would have felt guilty about all the late night calls except it was still summer and half the time he’d get 3 a.m. texts from Stiles anyway, just to see if Derek was awake.  Derek learned pretty quickly to turn the text alert sound off at night, just in case he _had_ managed to fall asleep by then.

Less than two weeks went by before Isaac and Boyd returned… with Scott.  And Stiles.  Derek should have been prepared for it, as well as he knew Stiles and as much as they texted, but Stiles must’ve figured it was probably too obvious to mention.  It was even stranger than Derek would have imagined, having Stiles back in the loft, but surrounded by other people.

At least Scott looked as uncomfortable as Derek felt.  Derek was still trying to think of something to say to put him at ease when Stiles busted out the Chinese delivery menu.  “Okay, orange chicken for me, mu shu pork and veggie lo mein for Scott.  Does this place serve egg rolls by the gross?  Because I have a feeling we’re gonna need ‘em…”

Something else Derek should have learned from Stiles by now – food was the great problem solver, at least among teenage males.  Once Stiles had reached enough of a consensus to call the order in, Scott started bragging about being able to fit six egg rolls in his mouth at once and Boyd and Isaac were placing their bets (Isaac: pro; Boyd: con).  Stiles kept clamping his hand over the phone to yell at Scott about what a liar he was, and Scott told them all to listen to his heartbeat, hear if he was lying.

“It doesn’t work if you’re lying to _yourself_ ,” Derek cut in, and even Boyd burst out laughing at the wounded look on Scott’s face.

But that seemed to break the last of the tension, even with Scott, and when Derek had them all sitting around the table – he wanted to get through this before the food arrived, because there would be no concentrating afterwards – he brought up the need for preparation to protect the territory.

“What exactly are the bounds of our territory?” Boyd asked, and Derek pulled out a map.  Some of the border areas were fuzzy, with the neighboring packs either very loosely established or absent entirely.  It was Scott who suggested twice-weekly patrols.

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.  “Scott,” Isaac said nervously, “are you…?”

Scott bit his lip, and Derek couldn’t help but notice Stiles staring intently at Scott, like this was something not even they had talked about.  “I don’t… feel like your beta, Derek.  But I still feel like I’m in your pack.  Is that even possible?”

Part of Derek wanted to roll his eyes and tell them that being born a werewolf didn’t come with a manual, but he needed to be honest with them – all of them – without sarcasm.  “I don’t know.  A lot of what I know about us comes from growing up in a mostly-born pack, where things like status are more straightforward.   Since I wasn’t the one that bit you, I don’t know for certain if you were _ever_ actually my beta.  But obviously humans can become pack by birth or marriage or strong emotional ties, so it seems possible for a werewolf.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see that Stiles looked surprised at that, but he had to work this out with Scott first.  “So you’ll help me?  You’ll help _us_?”

“As long as you don’t try to pull that _I’m the alpha_ crap with me,” Scott retorted, and something instinctual and angry rose up in Derek’s chest.  But one look at Stiles, who was watching him carefully as if he knew the fine line Derek was treading, and Derek pushed the feeling aside.

“I’m going to try to work things… differently,” Derek admitted.  “I’m – we’re _all_ – going to need to work together.  That includes letting each other in on plans.  If you have a problem with that, let me know now.”

Derek was proud of himself for getting that last part out without a snarl, and he hoped it would be enough.  Scott seemed to seriously consider his words, and at last he nodded.

“Okay, awesome!” Stiles cut in brightly, though Derek could hear the relief in his voice.  “Care Bear Hugs all around.  Isaac told me you said something about listing our resources?”

“Yeah, that should probably be our first step.”  Before Derek had even finished speaking, Stiles had whipped out a pad of paper and a pen.

They were all arguing about just how much they could trust Deaton (Scott and Isaac wanted him to be their first contact in the event that shit went down; Boyd and particularly Derek were less certain, to say the least; Stiles was mostly trying to mediate), and things were about to take a turn for the ugly when the doorbell rang and the food showed up.  Stiles looked so relieved he slumped down in his chair.  It was obvious how much he had invested in this alliance.

Despite the fact that they still had so much to hash out, Derek declared a moratorium on pack business until after dinner.  It was hard to be tense when they were all seated on the floor around the coffee table, Isaac shoveling beef and broccoli into his mouth like someone was about to take it from him, while Boyd and Scott were still arguing over the egg roll thing.  Eventually, Stiles was nominated as the referee, tasked with choosing the egg rolls to use (Scott: “If Boyd does it, he’ll just choose the biggest egg rolls.”  Boyd: “You threatened by big egg rolls, Scott?”) and giving the final call on whether or not Scott had succeeded.

It turned out that by grouping them together cigar-like, Scott could, in fact, fit the circumference of six fairly large egg rolls in his mouth at once, and when it was determined that he wasn’t unhinging his jaw (everyone had agreed on no abuse of werewolf healing powers), Stiles – looking just as surprised as everyone else – declared Scott to be a non-liar and his pants to officially not be on fire.

When Boyd told Scott he now had to eat the egg rolls without removing them from his mouth, Scott wordlessly flicked him off and everyone dissolved into laughter yet again, including Derek.  He had the sudden thought that _this_ was what his teenage years should have been, doing stupid stuff with friends instead of sneaking around with an older woman and, later, trying to keep his grief under control as he and his sister ran from city to city.  The stab of regret was almost physically painful, but it was hard to hold on to when Isaac was mournfully fishing a $10 bill out of his wallet and Scott was trying to trash talk Boyd through the mouthful of egg rolls and Stiles was laughing so hard he was actually crying.

Derek had this now.  It would have to be enough – it _was_ enough, considering the depths to which he’d sunk.  And he had Stiles to thank for bringing him back.

But he couldn’t afford to think about that now, especially as Scott was pulling the soggy egg rolls from his mouth one by one.  “You should try this, Stiles,” Scott said, then turned to Derek.  “He’s got a _huge_ mouth, and not just metaphorically.  He used to wipe the floor with everyone playing Chubby Bunny at summer camp.”

Stiles’ eyes flicked to Derek for a split second, and then his cheeks heated fast.  “Uh, thanks but no thanks.  You’ve already slobbered over enough of the food.  Oh, and you do have to eat those.  Referee says no wasting food.”

“But they’re all gross now!” Scott protested.

“So’s your face.”

“You are all twelve years old,” Boyd grumbled, but he was smiling as he collected his money from Isaac.

Once the bickering had died down and the rest of the food was eaten – leftovers were a rarity among werewolves – Stiles was able to get them all back on track surprisingly quickly.  They decided to discuss Deaton another time and went on with the list.  Stiles got them up to date with his translations and revisions to the bestiary – apparently Lydia was helping out much more than Derek had known.  They split up the patrols and decided to meet again the next week.

Derek desperately wanted to talk to Stiles alone, but he had driven everyone over, so he couldn’t hang back after they’d finished.  Even if he could have, Derek didn’t think Scott trusted him enough yet not to eavesdrop on the conversation, so he said goodbye to them all, making sure to touch Isaac and Boyd on the arm as they left.  He would bring that up, bonding through touch, sometime later.

When they were gone, he went to the fridge to get a bottle of water and saw the edge of a folded piece of paper sticking out from beneath the bag of baby carrots.  It looked like it had been torn from a pad, and on the inside was a pathetic little doodle of a howling wolf and, in Stiles’ handwriting, _You’re an A+ alpha_.

&&&

The next day – in the middle of the day – Stiles called Derek for once.  Stiles tried to start with some inane chitchat, but Derek just sighed.  “What do you want, Stiles?”  He didn’t mean to sound so annoyed, especially after last night’s success, but he could hear Stiles’ nervous heartbeat over the phone and he wanted to get to the point.

But, of course, Stiles evaded.  “Who says I have to want something to give you a call?  Maybe I just want to… chat?”

Derek snorted.  “Pretty sure you’re aware I’m not the chatty type.  You can’t already be checking up on me, because you last saw me 16 hours ago, and if this were about the pack, you’d have spit it out already.”

“Well, um,” Stiles said, and Derek could hear the click of a dry swallow.  “It is kind of about the pack.  Last night, you said… humans could be part of a pack?”

“You didn’t know that?” Derek asked, frowning even though he knew Stiles couldn’t see him.

“You never said either way, and the internet is… let’s go with ‘unreliable’ on these things.”

“There were humans in my family, both adults and children.”  It was Derek’s turn to swallow uncomfortably.  “Peter’s wife was human.”

“Oh.  I didn’t know.  Is there… I mean, you said birth and marriage, but is there a ritual for a human to become part of a pack?”

“There are some rituals, usually done at weddings, but they’re mostly symbolic.  It’s really the emotional ties that matter.”

“Oh.”  Stiles paused for a long time, and if Derek hadn’t heard him breathing, he would’ve thought the call had dropped.  “Am I part of your pack?”

“I assumed that’s why you came last night.”

“I was mostly there in case you needed a buffer from Scott.  And because I wanted to see you and I didn’t think you’d turn me away.”

Derek’s heart clenched.  That Stiles would even think that…  “I would never turn you away, Stiles.  Your loyalties have been divided because Scott’s your best friend, I get that.  But once you stayed with me… I forget that you can’t feel it the way I do.  At least not yet.”

“But if Scott joins your pack…”

“There won’t be any doubt,” Derek said, and then took a deep breath.  “And even if you weren’t pack, you do know you’re… you’re important to me.”

Stiles chuckled.  “Yup.  According to some sources, I’m even _useful_.”

“No, not just that.” Derek didn’t have any idea how to say what he wanted to say.  “Of course we’re all better for having you around, but I…”

“Feelings stuff?” Stiles asked softly after a few moments of pained silence.

Derek gripped the phone so hard he worried he’d crush it.  “Yeah.”

“If it helps, um.  Me too.”

“You were right, though.  I’m better, but I’m still not ready.  Especially if I can’t even say it.”

“That’s okay.  I’m probably not ready either.  For all I know, I could go all nuts on you and either run screaming or be that clingy guy.”

Derek was pretty sure that _any_ way Stiles handled a relationship would be better than the way Derek would, but he felt like a huge weight had been taken off his chest, even if he couldn’t think of the right thing to say next.  So he went for a change of subject.  “Thanks for being here last night.”

Stiles’ laugh sounded a little rueful.  “I kinda wish I could have stayed.  Y’know, for old time’s sake.”

“’Old times’ meaning ‘two weeks ago’?” Derek said instead of _I wish you could’ve stayed, too_.

“God, it feels like a lot longer than that,” Stiles sighed, and Derek tried – and failed – not to read too much into it.  “You’re doing better, though.  With the nightmares.”

“So far, yeah,” Derek admitted.  “But it feels like this dark cloud that’s always hovering over me, and I never know when it’s going to descend again.”

“Talking about it helped, right?  I know you didn’t want to talk specifics when it came to the actual dreams, but if you ever need somebody to listen…”

“Thanks,” Derek said, though he still wasn’t sure that talking about the details wouldn’t make them worse.

“Hey, look, I gotta go.  My dad’s got the afternoon off and we’re going to see some terrible action movie.  Hopefully there won’t be anyone else in the theater and we can heckle the screen.”  Stiles paused.  “Keep in touch, okay?  And I’ll see you at the next pack meeting.”

Derek wanted to tell him he was welcome any time, but that seemed like it might come across wrong, and besides, he could practically hear Stiles’ grin as he said the word _pack_.  “Just… not Chinese again.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another egg roll.”

&&&

That night, Derek woke up gasping from another fire dream.  It wasn’t much different from the ones he’d been having for years… except for one thing.  Behind the blackening basement window, pounding on the glass and screaming in terror as the flames grew higher, was Stiles.

&&&

Derek didn’t relapse, but only because he was able to stop himself from making the drive to Oregon.  If Terrence had been local, Derek had no doubt he’d have been shooting up again immediately.  The dreams didn’t come every night, and Stiles wasn’t always in them, but when he was, Derek awoke feeling physically sick.

It was like some kind of cruel reminder that everything he cared about, he destroyed in the end.

He occasionally checked in briefly with Stiles – anything else would’ve invited suspicion – and answered when Stiles called him.  He didn’t slip back into the threats that had largely dominated their interactions before, but neither could he fake the banter that had started to come so easily in the past weeks.  Derek wasn’t stupid enough to think he was fooling Stiles, but Stiles seemed to grudgingly respect the distance Derek was putting between them.

“You okay?” he asked at the next pack meeting when Isaac, Boyd, and Scott were playing Super Smash Bros. and yelling at the TV.

Derek bit back on an _I’m fine_ , because that would immediately arouse Stiles’ suspicion.  Instead, he said, “Not sleeping well.  And all the pack stuff… it’s overwhelming for me after such a long time.”

He was lucky Stiles couldn’t hear the lie.  Stiles just nodded solemnly and said, “I’m not trying to be overbearing, I just want you to know I’m here.”  His face was neutral, but there was a sour tinge of sadness to his scent.

Stiles didn’t stop showing up in Derek’s nightmares.

&&&

It was a damned good thing they’d made contingency plans, because it wasn’t three weeks since the first official pack meeting that the shit hit the fan.  Derek wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry at his utter relief that at least the timing of this clusterfuck had been convenient.

It started with Boyd smelling something strange on the outer edge of the territory.  Or rather, _not_ smelling something strange.  Derek went out to have a look and found an area about ten feet in diameter that simply had no odor.  For someone who relied so heavily on scent, it was like spotting a black hole, and it was extremely disconcerting.  He went farther behind the area, guessing that whatever it was had come from outside the territory, and got a trace scent of some unfamiliar humans and werewolves.  The scents seemed to be equally fresh, and it could have been a pack with multiple humans, but why the sloppy attempt to hide all their scents?

Derek only knew of one type of humans who both knew how and bothered to hide their scent.

“Hunters?” Scott asked back at the loft.

“Has to be,” Derek said.  “I just don’t know why they were traveling with werewolves.”

“Could they, uh,” Boyd started, and for the first time Derek could remember, his voice faltered.  “Could the wolves have been taken captive?”

“I suppose it’s possible, but it didn’t happen there.  The scent trail was relatively fresh, and there’s been no rain or high winds lately to cover over any signs of a struggle.  And hunters don’t generally travel around with their prisoners.”

“Could they be working together, the hunters and the wolves?” Stiles piped up from the corner.  He had seemed hurt by Derek’s gradual pulling away, but he dutifully attended the pack meetings.

“No,” Derek said simply.  He wasn’t trying to shut Stiles down, but he caught a slight wince around the edges of Stiles’ eyes.

“Well, how else do you explain it?” Stiles asked.  “Just because you’ve never heard of it happening doesn’t mean it can’t.  We know the hunters don’t all follow the rules.”

Isaac shook his head.  “What kind of werewolf would be foolish enough—”

Derek would have reflexively shot a look at Scott if Stiles hadn’t cut in.  “Omegas, maybe.  Werewolves that wouldn’t have had a chance on their own.  Hell, maybe these hunters are the human equivalents of omegas.  They’d be safer together, but where could they go?”

Derek sighed, realizing Stiles was probably right.  “A large territory with a small, fractured pack and two inactive hunters.”

“I don’t know how fast word travels, but shouldn’t they have heard we defeated an alpha pack?” Isaac asked.  “Why would they risk it?”

“Don’t underestimate omegas,” Derek warned.  “Some are all the more vicious for having been rejected or were too antisocial to ever really belong in a pack.  And we did defeat the alphas… at an incredibly high cost.”

“So what were they doing at the edge of the territory?” Stiles asked.  “And why only partially cover their scent?”

“Surveillance, maybe,” Boyd said.

“And they could have just gotten sloppy,” Derek said.  “Didn’t think I’d even try to find a scent trail.”

Scott swallowed loudly.  “Uh, wouldn’t that just make them idiots?”

“Stupid and vicious is a seriously bad combination, dude,” Stiles said with a groan.

“So, uh,” said Isaac.  “What do we do?”

Derek shut his eyes for a moment, not convinced of his own decision-making capabilities.  “We try to arrange a meeting.”

“Won’t that just turn into a bloodbath?” Boyd asked.  “Because I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

“It might,” Derek admitted.  “But they haven’t made a move yet.  They have to know we’re patrolling the borders, so they could’ve tried to pick us off one at a time, and they haven’t.  There’s going to be a confrontation eventually, and I’d rather it be on our terms.”

“So what do we tell them?” Scott asked.  He’d been gaping at Derek, probably because he’d expected Derek to suggest they just try and slaughter the whole lot of them.  “’Get the hell off my property’?”

“Essentially.  This is our territory and we have no intention of giving it up.”

“And if that goes south?” Stiles asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

“We’ll defend ourselves,” Derek said flatly.

“We’ll need backup,” Stiles said, and Derek’s chest twinged with his use of the word “we.”

Scott turned to him, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking.  “I told you, dude, Allison and her dad are out of the game.”

“With any luck, we won’t need them to actually do anything but show up,” Stiles replied.  “They have hunters; we need to have hunters.  Ones who follow the code and have connections.”

“No,” Derek growled, slamming his fist down on the table so hard the wood cracked.  “We are not bringing the Argents into this.”  He might have a fragile, unspoken truce with Chris, but Derek still didn’t trust him not to give into years of training and start taking out omegas on sight.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Derek,” Scott said.  “There’s too much we don’t know.  Maybe after we find out how big the pack is, who’s in it—”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Derek said, feeling like he finally needed to take charge.  “I don’t know of any other way to contact them, so I’m going to leave a note at the scent blind we found.  We’ll meet at my… the old house at night.  That way we’ll have some territorial advantage.  I’ll let you know when I’ve got the meeting set.”

He looked around from face to face, as though daring anyone to speak out against him.  Only Stiles looked like he wanted to say anything, but he kept his mouth shut for once.  But Derek felt he owed it to them all to say “I want to avoid bloodshed, too.  But I can guarantee you one thing – they’re not here to _ask_ to share.  Trying to meet them in the open, face to face, is the best chance we have of ending this peacefully.”

The mood was somber as the four others left, Stiles driving them once again.  He shot Derek a look as he walked out the door, but he didn’t attempt to hang back.   Derek expected to hear from him, but he assumed he’d get a phone call, not the pounding on his door half an hour later.

Stiles’ expression was so open and concerned that Derek had to muster all his will to keep from slamming the door in his face; he didn’t think he could deal with this right now.  Or ever.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked.  “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Actually, Derek _had_ been himself lately – his old self, or at least an approximation of it.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He felt more than saw Stiles bristle at that.  “Don’t try to bullshit me.  I’m not going to make you talk if you don’t want to, but don’t try to act like nothing’s changed in the past couple of weeks.”

“I’m clean,” Derek said, the edge of a snarl creeping unbidden into his voice.  “The pack is working together again.  Isn’t that what you wanted?

Stiles looked a little thrown by that.  “Well… yeah.  But it’s not really about what I want.”

“No, it’s not, is it?” Derek snapped.  It was too easy, falling back into this role.  He didn’t even have to try.

Stiles narrowed his eyes.  “You ever heard of a ‘dry drunk,’ Derek?  It’s someone who’s not using but still acts like they are.  It’s reverting back to self-destruction.”

“If you thought my plan was so shitty, you should’ve said so,” Derek shot back, hoping the misdirection would take.  He just needed Stiles out of the loft before he said something he would really regret, either in rage or in need.

“Under the circumstances, I think it’s the best we can do.  Although I still think we should at least let the Argents know what’s going on, because it will inevitably affect them, too.”  He paused.  “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“You helped me.  And I’m… I’m _grateful_.”  Derek spat the word out like it was poison.  “But I don’t need your help anymore.”

“Derek, you need as much help as you can get.  We all do.  We don’t know exactly what we’re up against, we’re still learning how to work together, and you… you’ve been through so much, and come out the other side of it, and we—”

All this use of _we_.  Stiles was pack, probably had been for longer than either of them knew it, but it could easily get him killed.  Derek had let himself get too close, and protection of his packmate was more important than his own feelings.  “And I’m okay,” Derek said, letting himself sound as exhausted as he felt.  “I’m just having a rough week.  This is the first real problem I’ve faced since…  And I’m handling it the best I know how.”

Stiles didn’t look like he was buying it.  “I know you’re still having the nightmares, at least sometimes.  I know they didn’t just go away.  What I don’t understand why you aren’t calling me about them anymore.”

Oh god, the nightmares.  Just the mention of them brought the image of Stiles screaming in agony and Derek nearly retched.  Instead, he twisted his face into a sneer.  “I don’t need you as a crutch anymore.”

The wave of hurt that came off of Stiles was acrid and overpowering.  “That’s what you think that was?  Me being your crutch?”

“Need to learn to walk without it sometime,” Derek said, and then, quickly: “Stiles, go home.  There’s nothing more to do tonight.”

Stiles’ face went blank then, and it was more disturbing than Derek could’ve imagined.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen that before.  “Right, okay.  But _when_ we get through this mess—”

“Fine,” Derek snapped, fairly sure he wasn’t actually agreeing to anything.

Stiles stared him down, and for a terrifying moment, Derek thought he was actually going to have to push Stiles out the front door, and Derek worried that if he touched him, he’d be lost.  He thought of all the times he’d touched Stiles so carelessly in anger, and it stiffened his resolve to keep from hurting Stiles at all costs.  “You know where the door is,” Derek said.

Without another word, Stiles turned and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Maybe Derek should’ve felt nostalgic, climbing into Scott’s window in the dead of night for the first time in at least six months, but instead he mostly felt nauseated.  He’d already been to Boyd’s house and Isaac’s foster home, but neither of those visits had sparked this queasy feeling.

Scott was sitting on his bed with his laptop, furiously jabbing one of the keys and murmuring _die die die die_ at something on the screen.  He had to know Derek was there, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to acknowledge him until the thing on the computer met its demise.  Finally, he looked up and sighed.  “I happen to know you have a cell phone.”

Derek just glowered.  At least he remembered how to do that, even if it no longer had the same effect it once did.  “You need to come with me right now.”

“Um, no?”

“The meeting with the omega pack.  It’s at midnight.”

That got Scott moving, grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor to yank over his boxers.  “Couldn’t have given me a little more warning?”

“It happened fast.”  Technically true, though Derek had been the one to request that it happen as soon as possible.

Scott went for his shoes.  “Shit, okay, have you rallied the troops?  You smell like Isaac and Boyd – do you need me to call Stiles to meet us there?”

“No,” Derek said, snatching Scott’s phone off the desk before he could grab it.  “Stiles is sitting this one out.”

Scott froze.  “What did you do to him?”

“What?” Derek said, taken aback.  “What are you talking about?”

“Do not even try to tell me that Stiles is ‘sitting this one out’ by choice.  So either he doesn’t know or you’ve got him chained up somewhere.”

Actually, chains might have been a good idea.  Too bad there wasn’t time before the meeting now.  “He’s not chained up.”

“So you’re just, what, not going to tell him?  And hold my phone hostage so I don’t tell him?”

Derek sighed.  “No, you need to have in on you just in case we… just in case.  But you are not calling, texting, or otherwise alerting Stiles to this in any way, do you understand?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Scott hissed.  “We need him there.  He’s part of the pack.”

There was a twinge in Derek’s chest, but he held firm.  “He helped us prepare for this.  That’s enough.  Scott, you know how dangerous this is tonight.  If they attack and it’s clear we can’t win, we’ll have to scatter and regroup.  Stiles isn’t fast enough to get away in time.  You know that.”

“He can take care of himself.  He’s always been fine,” Scott insisted, but Derek could hear the smallest tremor in his voice.

“And how long before he’s not?  Even he’d tell you that half of it’s been sheer luck.”

“He’d still want to go,” Scott said, sounding resigned.  “He’ll never forgive me for leaving him out of this.”

“Of course he will,” Derek said softly.  “He’d forgive you anything.  That’s who he is.  But if it helps, you can tell him I did hold your phone hostage.”

Scott shook his head, but he was already walking towards the window.  “This whole thing is a bad idea.”

“I know.  But it’s the only one we’ve got.”  He held out Scott’s phone, not handing it over just yet.  “Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t tell Stiles until it’s over.”

Scott looked miserable, but when he promised, there was no lie in his heartbeat. 

&&&

They met up with Isaac and Boyd about half a mile from the house.  “Stay calm, and no shifting unless you have to,” Derek said, as much to himself as to the others.  “If it gets ugly, get out of there as fast as you can and we’ll meet up at the western edge of the Preserve, near the main road.  I don’t think they’ll risk coming that deep into Beacon Hills.”

Isaac, Boyd, and especially Scott all looked like they had their misgivings, but they nodded.  Derek was half-amazed that they’d even listened to him, that they were still willing to back him up.  He wouldn’t lose another one of them, he decided, no matter what it cost him.  Even if he had to cede some of the territory, something that went against every alpha instinct he had.  Even if he had to give his life.

What was surprising was the realization that he really, really didn’t want to have it come to that.  Before, when fighting his uncle, when confronting Gerard and the kanima in the warehouse, he hadn’t felt much one way or the other about whether he’d make it out alive.

They got to the house before midnight, but the other pack was already there.  The full moon shed light on everyone in the clearing – it was a tricky move, setting the meeting on the full moon, but Derek had hoped that the omegas would fear the power of an alpha more intensely.  Of course, it could also make them less able to control themselves.

There turned out to be seven in the pack – three hunters and four werewolves.  Derek felt a small measure of relief that they weren’t hugely outnumbered, even though he’d known a pack like this could never survive if it were large.  All the hunters were armed, and the werewolves already looked to be on edge.  A male hunter and a female werewolf stood in front of the others. 

Derek motioned for Scott, Boyd, and Isaac to stop, and he stepped forward. 

“I assume you’re the alpha?” the man said, his steady heartbeat matching his casual tone.  They’d only communicated through notes, so this was the first time Derek had seen him.  Sight and hearing were all Derek had to go by – they had all apparently doused themselves in whatever scent neutralizer Boyd had originally found near the border.  Derek wondered whether it was as disturbing to the omegas as it was to him.

“I am,” Derek said.  “What are you doing in Hale territory?”

“You invited us in,” the woman said coyly.

Derek had to keep from grinding his teeth.  “What do you want?”

“Pretty simple, really,” the man said, putting his hands on his hips – right next to a holster.  “You’ve got yourself more land than you can handle.  We need a place to stay.  Surely you can find a way to share.”

“Even _if_ that were possible,” Derek said, feeling himself stiffen, “why the surveillance?  Why the scent blind?”

“We were clumsy, I know.  But you know what we are, and that we’re not safe on our own.  We’re tired of moving.  We don’t want trouble, and we won’t cause you any trouble.”

“We have no intention of accepting you into our pack.”

“And we have no desire to join,” the woman said with disgust.

“So what assurance do I have that you won’t try to take the whole territory by force?”

The man laughed and gestured to the rest of the pack.  “Look at us.  Do we look threatening to you?”

Truthfully, they didn’t.  It was easy to see they’d been on the run for months, if not longer.  But there was undoubtedly wolfsbane in the hunters’ weapons, and the werewolves looked unstable even to Derek – considering the company he’d kept, that was saying something.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said icily, “but we can’t help you.  You need to move on.”

The man smiled, “I promise you, we mean you no harm.”

This time Derek laughed, his fangs lengthening a little.  “Been around werewolves this long and you still haven’t learned how to disguise a lie?”  The man’s casual composure broke for a split second, but it was enough for Derek.  He took another step forward.  “You didn’t come here to ‘share’ anything.”

The man stared hard at Derek before saying, in that same irritatingly calm tone, “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe we want a place of our own.”

“You’d better find it somewhere else, then,” Derek growled, his claws beginning to emerge.  He had only wanted to try to intimidate the omegas, but he was beginning to feel his control slip.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the woman cooed.  “This is the most promising territory we’ve found so far.  There aren’t many of us, but there are even fewer of you.”

Derek let his eyes flash red, let the claws slip all the way out.  It had the intended effect – the werewolves shrank back.  But they all shifted and dropped into a fighting stance, including the woman, who seemed less intimidated by Derek than she should be.  Than he’d hoped.  “There may be fewer of us,” he said, his voice dropping into a true alpha growl, “but we’re stronger.  And this is our home.”

The man drew his gun, aiming it straight at Derek and dropping his casual act entirely.  “Alphas, omegas, you animals are all the same when it comes to wolfsbane.  Posture all you want, Hale, we’re still taking this land.  And obviously, the betas are going to have to go, too.”

It was too much; Derek could feel his control cracking under the weight of the full moon, the threat to his pack, and worse, his missing anchor.  The full shift started to take effect, hair sprouting from his cheeks as he breathed in to roar, to tear these interlopers limb from limb.  He was aware of nothing else, not even his betas behind him, not even—

The hand on his shoulder.

The shift seemed to pull itself back, along with the lust for blood, and he could think again.  He could place the voice next to him, the one that was saying, in a commanding tone, “ _Wait_.”

Stiles.

Derek turned to look, but even though Stiles’ hand was still firmly on his shoulder, he wasn’t speaking to Derek.  “Stop this.  You need to leave.”

The man laughed, his eyes never leaving Derek.  “How sweet, you have a human in your pack.  You think that’s going to stop us, kid?”

“No,” Stiles said calmly, though Derek could hear his racing heart.  “But _she_ might.”

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and Derek turned to see Allison stepping out of the shadows, bow drawn.

The omegas, even the woman in front, froze, as though this was hardly an uncommon sight for them – Derek suspected the hunters probably didn’t have a very sympathetic attitude toward werewolves, and the “protection” they offered the omegas came with a price.  But the two other hunters drew their weapons, another gun and a crossbow, both pointed at Allison.  Derek didn’t turn around again, but he knew without looking that Allison wouldn’t even flinch.

“She can get at least one shot off before any of you can,” Stiles said.  “And then, if you choose to retaliate, you can go find Chris Argent and explain to him why you killed his only daughter.”  
   
The hunter with the crossbow hissed, “You didn’t tell us this was Argent territory!”

“It doesn’t matter,” the man said, but his pulse was starting to rise.  “There are only two of them left, and they’re out of the game.”

Stiles clutched Derek’s shoulder a little tighter, but he laughed.  “How ‘out of the game’ does that look to you, asshole?  And you may not follow the Code, but Argent does, and he has lots of friends who do.  Not to mention he’s got an armory and my dad’s the sheriff.  So go ahead, kill us and make yourselves nice and cozy.”  He pointed at the house.  “I’d recommend the basement.  You’ve got, I dunno, maybe a week before every deputy in the county plus a couple dozen hunters show up armed to the teeth to wipe you out.”

Behind them, Allison snorted.  “Stiles, don’t insult us.  Three days, tops.”

Stiles shrugged.  “You heard the lady with the armor-piercing arrow.”

All the while, Derek had been playing a fast mental game of catch-up, and now that he had himself back under control, he figured he’d better start acting like an alpha again.  “Leave,” he said, keeping the growl and the red eyes.  “Put your weapons down and go right now, and we won’t harm you.”

Stiles turned to Derek.  “Can’t we harm them a little?”

“Not if they don’t come back.  Ever.”   Then Derek let loose with the roar he’d been holding back.

The omegas, all of them, scampered away.  Without their guard dogs, the hunters started slowly backing down, though the leader kept his gun trained on Derek.  “Weapons _down_ ,” Derek snarled, and the man finally dropped the gun and ran, his two companions unarmed and close behind.

As soon as they were gone, Stiles sagged against Derek’s side, and Derek could hear Scott racing over to Allison.  “Well, all things considered,” Stiles said, “that was practically a square dance.”

“And you weren’t invited,” Derek snapped, the leftover adrenaline and moonlight keeping his nerves on edge.  Still, he supported Stiles’ weight without pushing him away.

Stiles groaned.  “Why you gotta be like that?”

Derek shot a look over Stiles’ head.  “ _Scott_.”

Scott glanced up from where he’d been nuzzling Allison’s cheek.  “What?  I didn’t tell him!”

“I did.”

Everyone turned to look at Boyd.

He just shrugged.  “You were the one who said we needed to tell each other about any plans.  And I wasn’t about to let you bench the guy who saved my ass last time.”

He and Stiles exchanged brief nods and Stiles pulled himself up to stand on his own feet.  Derek immediately missed the warmth pressed against his side.  Then Stiles poked him in the ribs.  “I won’t hold my breath for a ‘thank you,’ but you really need to be thanking Allison.  She’s the reason we’ve all still got our limbs attached.”

Before Derek could even open his mouth, Allison said, without bitterness, “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know,” Derek replied.  “But thank you.  I didn’t mean to get you involved in this.”

Allison narrowed her eyes like she was about to say something, but Stiles stepped in between them and held up his hands.  “Baby steps!  We’re all learning how to do this whole ‘pack’ thing together.  I’d suggest a group hug, but I’m gonna go ahead and assume we’re not ready for that yet.  So, fist bumps all around, let’s go out for milkshakes sometime, et cetera.”

Isaac glanced around.  “Stiles, how did the two of you get here?  And how did we not hear you coming?”

“I parked about half a mile back and you guys seemed a bit… distracted.  Also, Allison is a stealthy mofo and I literally followed in her footsteps.”

“All right,” Derek sighed, his energy draining out to be replaced by a vague itch under his skin.  “Stiles can take Scott and Allison home.  I’ll make sure Isaac and Boyd get back safely.  We’ll do group border runs for the next few days just to make sure the other pack is actually gone.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  _All_ of you.”

He looked at Stiles, who smiled just a little and gave a slight nod before turning to Scott and Allison, who were definitely not acting like a broken-up couple.  “Okay, Allison gets shotgun and Scott’s in the back seat.  There will be no profaning of my Jeep tonight.”

&&&

Isaac’s foster home was closer, so they went there first.  When Derek got Boyd home, Boyd gave him a look that dared Derek to yell at him for calling Stiles.  Derek just sighed.  “You did the right thing, Boyd.  I just… didn’t want to put anybody at unnecessary risk.”

Boyd raised his eyebrows.  “How about not putting _me_ at unnecessary risk by making sure we have as much brainpower as we can?  I don’t know exactly what you were going through up until a few weeks ago, but it was obviously Stiles who pulled you out of it.  You two have to get your shit together, because we need him.”  Without waiting for a reply, Boyd carefully opened his bedroom window – on the ground floor for once – and climbed inside.

Derek dropped into a mindless run, concentrating on nothing but the burn in his muscles.  He would have liked to claim that he didn’t realize he was headed toward Stiles’ house until he saw the Jeep parked in the driveway, but honestly, he had known where he would end up.  He figured the Sheriff had to be on night duty if Stiles had gotten away so easily, and sure enough, the cruiser was gone.  Derek stared up at Stiles’ bedroom window, lit softly by lamplight, and made a choice.

He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

He heard a quietly muttered _Who the fuck?_ as footsteps stomped down the stairs and toward the door.  He knew Stiles had looked through the peephole when his heartbeat sped up, but he opened the door anyway.

Derek knew he should start, should say something conciliatory, but it was hard to speak when faced with Stiles in his pajamas again, the bottoms riding low enough to expose a pale strip of skin, staring at Derek like he hadn’t just seen him half an hour ago.  “This must be serious,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his head and rucking his shirt up another inch.  “I wasn’t sure you’d extended the concept of ‘doors’ to include my house.”

Derek bit back a groan.  “Can I come in?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“I’ve been an ass.”

Stiles blinked at him a few times and stepped back, gesturing for Derek to come inside.  “Close enough.   Now get in here before the neighbors see you and tell my dad about the midnight visitations from strange men.”

“Visitations, plural?” Derek asked, mostly teasing.  “You make a habit of letting strange men in after dark?”

“Apparently I’m very popular with creatures of the night.”

“Including Scott?”

Stiles groaned, and Derek realized he was following Stiles back up the stairs.  “Do not talk to me about Scott.  He is in _so_ much shit for not telling me about that little clusterfuck you arranged.”

“I told him not to.”

“Since when does he do what you tell him to?” Stiles asked, whirling on Derek and jabbing him in the chest with a finger.  “Honestly, it’s like you don’t know any of us.”

“He did this time.  And I knew _you_ wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s because it was a dumbass—” Stiles cut himself off.  “Wait, why are we even arguing about this?  You were wrong, I saved your ass – well, in the sense that I called Allison and _she_ saved your ass – and everybody learned a fun lesson about trust with no injuries of any kind, which is really sort of miraculous, if you think about it.  I am 100% in the right here.”

Stiles plopped down in his desk chair, and Derek could smell the burnt adrenaline and residual fear in his system.  So Derek did the only thing he could think of that would get Stiles’ attention and keep it – he dropped to his knees next to the chair.  “How did you know that I needed you?” Derek asked softly.

Obviously taken off guard, Stiles stammered a little before finding his voice again.  “You g-guys always need me.  I thought we established that.”

“No,” Derek said, thinking of Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, grounding him.  “How did you know that _I_ needed you?”

“Oh.”  Stiles seemed to read Derek’s mind, because he rested his hand on Derek’s shoulder again.  “I don’t know.  I just did.”

Derek wasn’t sure how much Stiles knew about anchors, if he even knew he was Derek’s.  Maybe there was nothing supernatural about it.  Maybe he just came to stand beside Derek because that was where he wanted to be.  It dredged up questions that Derek had been suppressing for a long time.

“Why?” Derek asked.  “Why did you do all this for me?  Not just tonight, I mean.  When you wouldn’t let me self-destruct with the drugs.  I could have killed you.  I almost did.”

Stiles smirked humorlessly, but squeezed Derek’s shoulder.  “I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask me that.”

“You didn’t have to do any of it.  You didn’t owe me a damn thing, and I wasn’t your responsibility.”

“No, you weren’t,” Stiles said softly.  “You still aren’t.  And yet, I keep showing up.”

“So…”

Stiles gnawed at his lower lip, eyes dropping as his cheeks flushed.  “Derek, it’s not that complicated.  You already know.”

Could it really be that simple? “People don’t… Nobody stays with me.”

“Isaac and Boyd do.  Even Scott does.”

“Not like you do.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not in—”

Stiles cut himself off and turned his head away as his heartbeat spiked.  Derek knew he needed to give Stiles something in return, to explain why he’d tried so hard to break away from Stiles in the past few weeks, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.  “The nightmares,” he started weakly.

That got Stiles’ attention.  “Have they gotten worse?”

“You’re in them.”

Stiles swallowed loudly, his eyes wide with shock.  “Oh.”

“You’re burning along with everybody else, trapped and terrified, and I can see you, but I can’t…”  Derek shook his head, his throat closing with pain before he could say anymore.  He tried to look down at the floor, but Stiles cradled his face with both hands.

He looked at Derek for a long moment like he didn’t quite know what to do with him.  Finally, he said, “I have nightmares sometimes.  They’re about people I love wasting away.  You’ve started showing up there, too.  I see the needle going in, but instead of injecting the drug, it drains something out of you until you crumble into dust and just… blow away.  You said strong emotional ties can make someone pack?  There you go.  Subconscious, fucked up proof that we’re important to each other.”

“I don’t want—” Derek started, but stopped before he could say something truly stupid like _I don’t want you to be too important to me for your own good_.  “It’s not fair to you for me to have to lean on you so much.”

Stiles rubbed a thumb across his cheekbone.  “You know there’s a difference between leaning on a crutch and asking for help, don’t you?”

Derek couldn’t really respond to that, so he just lowered his head to rest against Stiles’ thigh and let Stiles’ stroke his hair.  “There are so many of us who want to help you if you’ll let us.  I’m just the most stubborn.”

Derek snorted.  “That’s not all you are.”  He meant it to be teasing, but instead it came out soft, something very close to a confession.

Stiles lifted Derek’s head from his lap and stood, offering Derek a hand up as well.  “C’mon, you must be exhausted and my dad won’t be back for hours.”

Derek stripped off his jeans and shirt, expecting Stiles to get him some sweatpants or something, but Stiles had already crawled into bed and was holding the covers back for Derek to join him.  Derek would have to have been a fool not to know where this was going, but still, the sheets and blankets, soaked with nothing but Stiles’ scent, made Derek groan and bury his face in a pillow, breathing deeply.  Stiles had jerked off here not long ago, had probably mostly cleaned it up with tissues, but the smell still lingered, strong enough to drive Derek crazy.

“I slept in your bed,” he confessed, unable to stop himself.  “I mean, not this one, but the one in my guest bedroom where you stayed.  I never changed the sheets, so they still smell like you.”  When Derek rolled his head enough to open one eye, Stiles was right there next to him.

“Did it help with the nightmares?”

“Helped with a lot of things,” Derek said, past the point of caring how it sounded.

Stiles grinned.  “So you’re saying I ought to come over and roll around in your bed as often as possible.”  He was up on his elbow, practically hovering over Derek now.

As much as Derek wanted to reply _Oh god yes_ , he remembered how they’d left things at the end of the week Stiles had stayed with him.  “Aren’t we supposed to talk about… _feelings_ first?”

Stiles laughed, long and hard, his head dropping to Derek’s bare shoulder.  “You sound like you’d rather be disemboweled with a butter knife.”

Derek flipped over onto his back, letting Stiles fall to rest against his chest.  “That would be far less traumatic.  And I’d heal from that.”

“But you wouldn’t heal from this?” Stiles asked softly, sitting up enough to look Derek in the eye.

“Depends,” Derek said, watching Stiles’ face very carefully.  “What exactly are we talking about?”

Stiles blushed, but he didn’t look away this time.  “As much or as little as you want.  If I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I’m kind of fucking crazy about you.  I just… I need to know where I stand with you.  I get that talking isn’t your thing and I understand why you pushed me away, but you can’t keep doing that.  It _really_ hurt.  I know you’ve got me outmatched on abandonment issues, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have them, too.”

Derek had no idea how Stiles could be so honest, could just put words to everything and have them come out right.  He wanted to say _you’re so young_ or _you don’t know what you’re asking for_ , but Stiles was by far the more mature one here.  _He_ hadn’t wanted to take advantage of _Derek_ , when it should’ve been the other way around.  Shouldn’t it?  “Is… Are we on a level playing field now?”

Stiles seemed to take a moment to think.  “I don’t know how to measure that, and I’m not sure I’d want to, anyway.  Comparing damage isn’t going to do any good.  I think we just need to know where the quicksand is and work around it.”

“You said… Before you left, you said something about motives.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek could smell a sudden rush of embarrassment.  “Okay, this is going to sound like the stupidest thing ever, but… I didn’t want to feel like I was trying to heal you with my cock?  Fuck, it sounds even worse out loud.  I mean, I guess my cock _could_ have magical healing powers – I’ve seen weirder shit, and it’s not like I’ve ever gotten to test it out.  But I didn’t, like, want to delude myself into thinking sex would fix anything.”

 “You do realize everyone else your age assumes that sex fixes _everything_.”

“Yeah, they haven’t been paralyzed by a werelizard hitman.  Hitlizard?  That kind of puts things into perspective.”

On a sudden impulse, Derek pushed up to kiss Stiles on the forehead.  “And I didn’t want to just… take something from you that you couldn’t get back.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed.  “Why would you think you’re taking anything from me?”  His eyes suddenly went wide when he figured it out.  “Oh.  That.”  Derek was infinitely thankful Stiles didn’t say her name.  “Do you really think that’s what you’re doing?  Because if this makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t,” Derek said, surprising himself with the force behind his words.  “Maybe I’m worried because I think it should, but it doesn’t.”

“We can wait, Derek.  _I_ can wait.”

Derek groaned, covering his face with his hands.  “I don’t want to.  The pack tonight isn’t the only one that’s going to challenge us.  We still haven’t found Gerard, and god knows what else is coming.”

Stiles patiently pried Derek’s hands away.  “Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“Yes.  We’re going to be in danger as long as we’re in Beacon Hills.  As long as you’re around me.”

“No.  Well, yes.  But despite all that, you’re saying you want something _good_.  Something that makes you happy.”  Stiles stopped, flushing bright red but still gripping Derek’s wrists.  “I, um.  I’m not misreading, right?  Because happy’s kind of a relative thing and with you it’s kind of hard to—”

Derek tugged him close and silenced him with a kiss.  Just a soft brush of lips, but he could feel the tension flow out of Stiles’ body, and yes, it made Derek happy.

It made Derek happy to settle Stiles back against the pillows and kiss down into his mouth until Stiles opened up to him completely.  It made Derek happy to press his body over Stiles’, to line them up and support just enough of his own weight so that Stiles could breathe.  And when Derek shifted up to delve further into Stiles’ mouth, it made him very, very happy to draw a deep, yearning groan out of Stiles.  The sound seemed to break clean through all the barriers Derek had so carefully put between himself and Stiles, and pure affection rushed in to fill the space left behind.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, hands wrapping around Derek’s shoulders and hips rolling up off the mattress.  “You good?  We good?  Verbs gone.”

Derek chuckled and rocked into the rhythm that Stiles set, slowing it down when it started to get too frantic.  Fulfilling a fantasy he hadn’t quite let himself play out even in his head, Derek kissed the mole near the corner of Stiles’ mouth, following the trail of smaller moles and freckles toward the hinge of his jaw.  “Is this what you want?” he whispered, making sure to blow hot over the delicate shell of Stiles’ ear.

“It’s – _ah, fuck_ – one of the things,” Stiles gasped.  “Just to warn you, there are many, many things.”

“I’d be disappointed if there weren’t,” Derek said, giving himself over to the sparking pleasure that made his breath catch every time their cocks rubbed together.  It wasn’t quite enough to get him off – not through two, possibly three, layers of fabric – but from the way Stiles’ muscles were tightening, it would be plenty for him.

Sure enough, Derek felt the dull edges of Stiles’ nails dig into his shoulders and Stiles moaned, “Too close.  Not yet.”

Derek kissed the plush fullness of Stiles’ lower lip and smiled.  “Go ahead.  Let go.  We’ve got time for a few other… things.”

Stiles thrust up hard, and Derek pulled back just in time to get a good look at Stiles’ face as he came.  His mouth dropped open in shock and his eyes darted behind closed lids and his lungs emptied with a quiet _oh_ before dragging as much air back in as his body could hold.  Derek’s heart twisted in his chest when he realized he was the first person to see this, something as fleeting and chaotic as the birth of a new star, but something he could see again.  And again.  And again, for as long as Stiles let him.

Stiles held tight to him through the bone-deep shudders, and Derek stayed still, gave Stiles something to grind against until he was spent and ready to drop back to the mattress.  Then Derek dipped his head and kissed the sheen of sweat from Stiles’ throat, from just beneath his chin all the way down to where it had begun to collect in the hollow between his collarbones.  If Derek paused there to suck and bite just a little, well, he could always blame animal instinct.  Or something.

But he could feel the buzz of Stiles’ soft laughter against his mouth and the damp patch growing in Stiles’ pajama pants.  “So that’s… what all the fuss… is about,” Stiles said, seemingly not in any hurry to catch his breath.

Derek snorted, nosing his way back up Stiles’ neck until he was nuzzling just below Stiles’ ear.  “That’s one very, very small part of it.”

Stiles groaned, but Derek could feel his grin against his cheek.  “I’m going to die of this, aren’t I?  I’m going to be like those crazy gamers who play Call of Duty until they drop dead of dehydration.”

“What if I promise to keep you hydrated?” Derek asked, kissing the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

“Then I’ll—oh.”  He shifted his hips, feeling Derek still hard in his boxers.  “You didn’t…”

“I will,” Derek said.

Stiles’ grin could’ve lit up the entire house.

He wriggled out from under Derek – the friction making Derek lose track of everything for a moment – kicked off the covers and stripped off his shirt and pajama pants, cleaning himself off with them.  And oh god, the scent of Stiles’ cum, fresh and still warm, ripped a jagged groan out of Derek, who flopped on his back and shoved down his own underwear to get a hand around himself and ease some of the pressure.

It didn’t really work, especially when Stiles climbed back over him, one hand running down Derek’s chest and the other gripping his bicep to feel the motion of his arm.  “ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles hissed.  “That is so hot.  Too bad you need to stop that.  Right now.”

“Gimme a reason,” Derek shot back, continuing to stroke himself but slowing the pace and twisting his wrist on the upstroke, his hips jerking a little off the bed each time.

It took a full four and a half seconds – Derek counted – for Stiles to pull his thoughts together enough to respond.  “Because, dumbass, _I_ want to get you off.”

“Mm-hmm.  What’s your plan?”

Stiles faltered a little, sitting back on his heels, and there was a skip in his heartbeat, a tinge of anxiety to his scent.  “What do you want?”

Derek let go of his cock and reached up to touch Stiles’ face.  “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”  He slid his thumb across Stiles’ lower lip.  “But I’d really, really like your mouth on me, somewhere.”

Stiles sighed with what sounded like relief.  “Good.  Awesome.  Because I don’t know if I’m really ready for…  okay, I’m trying not to say ‘buttsex’ here, but… well, I guess I just went ahead and said buttsex, so… that.  I mean, that’s a thing that I think I’m going to want, possibly sooner rather than later, but not _right_ this second.”

Derek silenced him by pressing his thumb over both of Stiles’ lips.  “Me neither.  Your mouth, though…”

“Right, right.  Less with the talking, more with the…” Stiles looked Derek up and down with slightly intimidating focus.  “Do you, uh, mind if I explore a little bit first?  Because, you know: kid, meet candy store.”

Derek tried to hide his grin with a sigh.  “All right, but no weird lollipop metaphors or I’m locking myself in the bathroom to jerk off.”

It was the emptiest of threats, but Stiles nodded earnestly before bending down to drop a kiss on Derek’s chin.  He started with Derek’s stubble, but proceeded to brush his lips over nearly every inch of Derek’s face and neck.  He even kissed both eyebrows – twice – without any explanation, and Derek wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  Instead, he tried to just relax into it, to enjoy it.

It had been a long, long time since Derek had been this still under someone’s careful, methodical touch – probably because it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone who bothered.  Hell, it had been a long time since he’d been with _anyone_.  The random hook-ups in New York had never been fun, exactly – more of a release than anything else – and his few attempts at relationships…

Fortunately, Stiles snapped him right out of that train of thought by biting lightly at his nipple.  Derek’s whole body jerked, and Stiles looked up, eyes wide.  “Okay?”

“Fine,” Derek answered, settling back down.  “But go a little bit easier next time.”

Stiles nodded and moved on to Derek’s other nipple, this time worrying it gently with his teeth before giving it a warm, wet suck that had Derek arching up into the sensation until he could feel Stiles’ grin against his flesh.

Stiles worked his way down Derek’s torso with hands and mouth, mapping out the spread of Derek’s ribs and the dip of his navel.  Derek was just ticklish enough that it made him tense up a little, and soon long, nimble fingers were tracing the cut of his abs.  It was perfect, right up until Stiles ducked his head for a long lick up Derek’s stomach and a sense memory hit him from out of nowhere.  Shackles, blinding lights, a nasty grin…

Stiles pulled away immediately, and Derek realized he’d frozen completely and stopped breathing.  “I _know_ that wasn’t good sign,” Stiles said, concern creasing his expression.

Derek nodded and concentrated on breathing normally while Stiles climbed back up beside him on the bed.  Stiles looked worried to touch him, so Derek reached out and tugged him close, pressed their foreheads and noses together until they were breathing the same air.

“Sorry, bad memory,” he said.  “Everything else was… good.  Really good.”

Stiles wrapped a hand around the back of Derek’s neck.  “Do you want to keep going?  We can take a rain check.”

“No,” Derek said, more forcefully than he intended.  Despite the shock, he was still mostly hard, and he didn’t want Stiles any less.  If anything, he was more determined not to let old memories get in the way – they’d done too much damage already.  “No,” he said again, softer.  “Please don’t stop.”

Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye, and whatever he saw, it made him nod slowly.  “Anything else I need to watch out for?”

“Just… don’t call me ‘sweetie.’”

Suddenly, Stiles was trying very hard – and not entirely succeeding – at suppressing a smirk.  “I can honestly say the thought never crossed my mind.”

“Good,” Derek said, able to grin threateningly at him.  “Now get back to work.”

“Ooh, permission to make a time-card-punching joke?”

“Permission denied,” Derek said, barely stifling a laugh.

“Slave driver,” Stiles grumbled as he slithered his way back down Derek’s body, but he started in on the delicate skin in the crease of Derek’s hip just as enthusiastically as before.

By the time Stiles finally got around to touching Derek’s cock, Derek was fully hard again, holding back claws so he wouldn’t ruin Stiles’ bed sheets.  Stiles’ face betrayed a small attack of nerves as he took Derek in his hand for the first time, stroking him hard and slow like he’d seen Derek do to himself.  Stiles was looking at his face so intently that Derek had to close his eyes just to keep from going off at that first touch.  Fuck, he used to have amazing stamina, but now, in Stiles’ hands, Derek’s ability to ignore his own desires was quickly evaporating.

Closing his eyes might not have been the best idea, though, because Derek was completely unprepared for the heat of Stiles’ tongue running up his cock, giving a little flick at the tip.  Derek made a completely incoherent, garbled sound, and Stiles must have interpreted it the right way because he licked at Derek again.  And then again.  He traced a vein with the very tip of his tongue, then swirled it around the crown until Derek knew he had to be leaking precum.  “You sure you haven’t done this before?” Derek gasped.

Stiles responded with a snort, a puff of cool air against Derek’s wet cock that made him twitch.  “I think I would have remembered it.”

He was looking at Derek expectantly, even though Derek was sure Stiles had a pretty damned good idea what to do next.  “I’m not gonna last long,” Derek admitted, feeling his face flush.  “Just… your _mouth_.”

Stiles nodded and gripped Derek’s cock, his fingers firm and certain, angling it just right.  It was torturously slow going at first, Stiles figuring out how to cover his teeth with his lips while bobbing his head, but it was steadily unraveling what was left of Derek’s control.  When Stiles took Derek too deep, he pulled away, coughing, and Derek nearly sobbed at the loss of heat, still reeling from the sensation of bumping the back of Stiles’ throat.

“Use your hand, too,” Derek gritted out.  “And your tongue.”

It turned out that Stiles took direction very, _very_ well – he got a rhythm going with his hand around the base first, then lowered his mouth down around Derek’s cock and rubbed the tip with the flat of his tongue while sucking shallowly.  Derek’s toes curled, the tension coiling fast in his lower belly and he gasped out a choked warning mere seconds before he came.

But Stiles kept stroking and sucking, the wet heat of his mouth almost more than Derek could bear.  He was vaguely aware of Stiles making a pleased sound when the first spurt hit his tongue, and the vibration of it made Derek’s whole body lock up.  When his hands fisted in the sheets, he felt something rip under his fingers but he couldn’t even begin to care.

Stiles let go of him a little sooner than Derek would have liked, but even without looking he could hear Stiles struggling to get his breath back.  Fuck, Derek was shaking – or at least he felt like he was.  And when he looked down the bed at Stiles, he could see a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment on Stiles’ face.

There was cum at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, dripping down his chin, and Stiles’ swiped the back of his hand across his face.  “Shit,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.  “I… I tried to swallow, but there was so much.  God, I must look so gross, I—”

Wordlessly, Derek reached down and hauled him up until he was splayed across Derek’s chest.  Derek’s tongue swiped the corner of Stiles’ lips, chasing his own taste into Stiles’ mouth and groaning.  “Not gross,” he murmured.  “ _Perfect_.”  And kissed Stiles’ swollen lips, sucked on his tongue until Stiles was wriggling against him.

Derek had both of Stiles’ wrists clasped in one hand held back over both their heads, stretching Stiles’ long, lean body over his own and holding him captive.  Stiles’ cock, hard and insistent once again, was trapped between their bellies, and Derek hooked his legs over Stiles’ so Stiles couldn’t get any leverage to thrust.  As enjoyable as it had been to watch and feel Stiles rub himself off on Derek, Derek needed to taste him this time.

After a few minutes of plundering Stiles’ mouth while Stiles gasped and squirmed, Derek released him, wrists and legs both.  He helped Stiles sit up, knees on either sides of Derek’s ribcage.  Stiles stared down at Derek in confusion until Derek hooked his hands behind Stiles’ knees and tugged him forward.

Stiles had to grab the headboard to keep his balance, and he stared down at Derek, his mouth gaping.  “Is this what I think it is?”

Derek adjusted the pillow under his head until his neck was at a better angle.  “Yep.  It’s a headboard.”

Stiles groaned and buried his face against his arm.  “You’d better not be screwing with me.”

Derek just grinned up at him, hands sliding up Stiles’ sides until he could tease his nipples with his thumbs.  “And if I am, what are you going to do about it?  Fuck my mouth?”

Stiles honest-to-god whimpered, and Derek could hear the headboard creak under his grip.  When Stiles looked down again, his eyes were wide, almost frightened, but Derek smelled nothing but arousal.  “C-can I?  You’d let me?”

_Let_ him?  God, the things Derek would let Stiles do to him.  But Stiles looked overwhelmed enough already and despite being on his back with Stiles straddling him, Derek felt strangely powerful, able to give Stiles something he obviously wanted so badly.  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t,” he said, trying to sound casual and probably failing miserably.

Stiles reached down and carded a hand through Derek’s hair, a gesture of such tenderness that it caught Derek square in the chest and tugged.  “I don’t want to choke you,” Stiles said, his voice wavering but his cock hard and dripping and so close that Derek’s mouth was practically watering.

“Don’t worry about that,” Derek said, settling his hands firmly on Stiles’ hips.  He regretted neglecting to tend so thoroughly to Stiles’ body the way Stiles had done to him, but Stiles was too far gone for that to be anything but torture right now.  Besides, there would be time for that later.  Derek would make time. 

With a trembling hand, Stiles guided the tip of his dick into Derek’s open mouth, letting it rest heavy on his tongue for a moment.  Just the small taste it afforded Derek made him moan – he hadn’t done this in so long, hadn’t always liked it, but he _wanted_ it now.

Stiles let out a strangled sound as his hips stuttered into motion, thrusts guided by Derek’s hands.  Derek had to strain his eyes up to be able to see Stiles’ face, but it was worth it.  _Enraptured_ was the only word that Derek could think of, the way Stiles’ eyes kept fluttering closed and his mouth moving around wordless sounds.  Taking Stiles’ cock was easy: sucking on the outstroke, occasionally swirling his tongue, and exerting pressure on Stiles’ hips when he got close to pushing too deep.

Soon, Stiles’ ability to hold himself upright seemed to leave him and he curled his body over Derek, resting one forearm across the headboard and his head on his arm.  With his other hand, he cradled Derek’s head – not pushing, just holding firm like he needed to touch Derek just as badly as he needed to thrust into Derek’s mouth.

It couldn’t have been very long before Stiles’ rhythm started to break down and he pushed forward to let Derek suck the orgasm right out of him.  It felt so much like surrender that Derek felt a sharp, sweet pang in his chest again.  This time, Stiles said Derek’s name, hushed and reverent, when he climaxed, and Derek drank him down eagerly, mouthing at him until Stiles started to shudder with too much stimulation.

For a moment, Derek was sure Stiles was just going to collapse on top of him, but he apparently had just enough energy left to pull himself away and swing a leg back over so he could slide bonelessly down next to Derek.  After that, though, Derek was left to do the arranging: pulling the covers back up, manhandling Stiles a little until his head rested on Derek’s chest.

Stiles threw a limp arm across his waist and scooted closer.  “Derek,” he said, stifling a yawn, “you need—?”

His hand started inching down Derek’s torso, but Derek took hold of it and brought it back up so Stiles’ arm was wrapped around his chest.  “No.  Not tonight.”

Stiles gave a weak little chuckle.  “Good.  ‘Cause I am legitimately about to pass out.  I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ sweat-slick hair, kissing his scalp.

“Mmm, I owe you all kindsa things.  Thank you cards and balloon animals and fireworks.”

Derek was about to say something unbearably cheesy about them making their own fireworks, and that’s when he knew he was completely gone.  In _way_ over his head.  Probably had been since kissing Stiles that day on the beach, maybe even before.  But the thought, as overwhelming as it was, didn’t scare him.  It just felt like admitting the truth.

&&&

Laura would have made better choices as an alpha; Derek has come to terms with that.  She might not have been able to prevent every death, but she would have been better at training her betas, fostering their loyalty, growing their pack instead of cobbling it together with little more than shared pain and feeble hope.

She would never have self-medicated to dull her own pain, and she certainly would never have done anything like this, getting involved with a high school boy, no matter how smart and selfless and devoted he was.  She’d have warned Derek against it, especially if she’d known about Kate.

But Derek isn’t Laura, and he can’t try to do what he imagines she would have done because it’s not how he works.  For whatever reason, he had to learn it the hard way before it stuck, had to make mistakes that hurt him and the people he loved.  He knows he’ll make mistakes again, though hopefully not the same ones.

He also knows that if it weren’t for Stiles, for this obstinate, wiseass, beautiful boy who refused to let him self-destruct, everything would have fallen apart, starting with him.  He has Stiles to thank not just for being alive, but fighting to stay that way.

The nightmares still come, he still wakes in fear, but now he has something – and some _one_ – to wake up to

**Author's Note:**

> After the Alpha pack kills Erica and turns Boyd feral to make him kill Peter (the deaths are not described in detail), Derek begins using an unnamed intravenous drug to help him sleep without nightmares and becomes addicted to it. Stiles finds out and helps him recover.


End file.
